


Little Shadow

by hollycomb



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sulu is Chekov's roommate at the Academy. Sulu is not happy about being saddled with a kid for a roommate, but eventually they become friends. Chekov falls in love with Sulu, and everything falls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chekov gets plenty of second looks as he makes his way toward his dormitory carrying a box of books, his overstuffed duffel strapped across his back. He tries to be friendly, like his aunt told him he should, and he smiles at the young men and women who stare at him as if he should be wandering through the aisles of a toy store, not walking unaccompanied through the halls of the Academy's newest dormitory. The typical age of a person enrolling in the Academy is eighteen, and Chekov is only fourteen, already finished with secondary school and ready for more of a challenge. The Starfleet recruiters warned him that his biggest challenge might be fitting in with his classmates, but Chekov hopes that the other students at the Academy are open-minded enough to accept him better than the older boys at his high school did. He still has a bruise on his neck from the last of his regular beatings. 

He arrives at his room and pushes inside, wearing a nervous smile for his new roommate, but the room is empty. Chekov's heart sinks a little as he deposits his books onto one of the two bare mattresses in the room. He hopes they don't expect him to room alone; he's already having trouble imagining how he'll make friends. He never really got the hang of it at home and wants to start over fresh here, where no one thinks of him as a tiresome, overachieving brat who was put on Earth to make them feel bad about themselves. He knows, of course, that it's possible that people at the Academy will see him the exact same way. 

He puts his books on the shelves that are built into the wall near the bed he's chosen, the sight of their familiar titles making him feel a little less anxious. He puts the sheets his aunt packed for him on the bed, his clothes in the closet, careful to keep them all on the left side so that his roommate won't feel that Chekov is trying to take over the room. He has a few other things that he brought from his room at home: a picture of his parents, which is more familiar to him than any actual memories of them, a little stone owl that used to belong to his mother and a postcard of San Francisco that he always kept taped up in his locker at school, to remind himself of his goals, and that someday he would be far away from the dreary halls where his education began. He sits on the bed and stares up at the postcard, then turns to the window, where he can see the actual Golden Gate bridge stretching out in the distance. For some reason, the sight makes him feel sad. He wishes he had someone to go visit it with, someone who would take pictures of him in front of the bridge so that he could send one home to his aunt. Outside in the halls he can hear the laughter and cheerful talk of the other new recruits, and his heart pounds when he considers walking out to try to introduce himself. Maybe later.

The door opens, and Chekov scrambles up from the bed, slapping his arms to his sides as if the person who is entering might be a commanding officer. Instead, he's a young man with sunglasses pushed up onto his head, turning back to laugh at something that someone is shouting to him from down the hall. He's wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and Chekov feels suddenly ridiculous in his pressed Oxford and khaki pants. He hurriedly untucks his shirt as the man with the sunglasses rolls a suitcase into the room. The man looks up with a grin and his face falls into open surprise when he sees Chekov standing stiffly at attention. 

"Hey," the man says, frowning. "Is – what –?"

"Hello!" Chekov says, throwing his hand out. "I am Pavel Chekov, this is my first year at the Academy, very pleased to meet you!"

He's aware of the fact that he sounds like an idiot, and his face burns as he realizes that it's inevitable: he's going to turn into that same boy he was in high school here. Everyone will look at him like this man is now, as if he's out of place and slightly irritating. 

"Hikaru Sulu," he says, shaking Chekov's hand. "Um – did you say – you're a student here?"

"Yes, sir – I mean, yes, I am a student, yes, I –" Somehow he doesn't know how to continue, and he stands there will this mouth hanging open, his cheeks burning hotter. 

"Okay," Sulu says slowly, setting a shoulder bag he'd been carrying down on the opposite bed. "You, um. How old are you?"

"Fourteen years old, sir." 

"You don't have to call me sir." Sulu looks disappointed. Chekov is sure he was hoping for a roommate his own age who would drink beer with him and tell stories about girls. 

"Sorry," Chekov says, looking down at Sulu's feet, and then the door swings open again. Chekov recognizes the man who walks in as the dormitory administrator, Owen; Chekov was introduced to him when he picked up his room assignment. 

"Hey, good, you're both here!" Owen says. He shoots a nervous glance at Sulu and then smiles at Chekov. "I just wanted to see how you were settling in." 

"Fine, sir," Chekov says, and almost curses himself out loud for the 'sir.' Except that Owen actually does rank higher than Chekov, so he should call him sir, and maybe Sulu, too. 

"Owen," Sulu says tightly. "Can I talk to you?" 

"Sure, sure," Owen says, sighing as if he anticipated this. He gives Chekov another smile and steps out into the hall. Sulu follows, taking a look back at Chekov as if he needs to double check, making sure that his disbelief is warranted.

Chekov sneaks over to the door to listen to their hushed conversation, folding his arms over his chest and beginning to feel a little sick to his stomach with nerves and humiliation. 

"What the hell?" Sulu says to Owen. 

"I know, I know," Owen says. "But somebody has to watch out for the kid, he's a minor, and apparently the recruiters are pretty excited about him, he's like a genius or something –"

"Oh, great, that'll make living with a toddler even more fun," Sulu says, snorting.

"Hey, don't be like that, man. I didn't know who else to recommend. You're like, responsible and shit."

"So, what, I'm actually expected to babysit him?"

"No! Well, yes. Kind of. Dolby asked me to tell you that the department would really appreciate it if you like, took him to meals and stuff, made sure he knows his way around."

"Fuck, are you serious? Like I'm not going to have enough to do this semester?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but if this gets you in good with Dolby and them maybe it's a blessing in disguise!"

"Yeah, great," Sulu mutters. 

Chekov hurries away from the door, chewing the tip of his tongue to try to hold in his pathetic, childish tears. He walks over to the window and stares out at the Golden Gate Bridge. The sight is like a taunt now; what was he thinking, that he could really change his life? He'll always be the weirdo, an object of resentment. Even if he becomes the Captain of a ship someday, people will treat him with begrudging distance at best. 

He hears the door open and close behind him and wipes at his eyes, turning toward his bed with his back to Sulu so that he won't see him crying. Sulu sighs, and Chekov hears his mattress bounce as he falls to a seat on it.

"So what are you majoring in?" Sulu asks.

"Theoretical physics," Chekov says, pretending to be looking for a book. He leaves off the _Advanced_ in the title of his major so that he won't sound snotty. 

"Oh, cool. I'm doing astrophysics, so. I guess we'll have all our classes in the same building." 

Chekov says nothing, toying with the spine of one of his books. He wonders if he should tell Sulu that he doesn't have to pretend to be nice to him.

"Are you okay?" Sulu asks. 

"Yes," Chekov says, trying to keep his voice steady. He would be able to stop crying if he weren't so fucking embarrassed, if Sulu would just leave the room for awhile.

"Is this – your first time away from home?" Sulu asks, and Chekov can hear the bed squeak as he stands. 

"Yes," he says. He hopes that Sulu won't make him turn around; his eyes are still watery and he can imagine Sulu going back to Owen to complain that the toddler he's been asked to babysit has been crying. 

"Are you – Russian?" 

"Yes," Chekov says. "You're American," he says, because Sulu's accent is obvious, too. 

"Yeah, I actually grew up in San Francisco, always wanted to go here," Sulu says. He's still standing behind Chekov, hovering as if he isn't sure if Chekov needs medical attention or not. "This is my second year, so, if you have any questions, you know, hopefully I'll be able to help." 

"You don't have to," Chekov says sharply, trying his best to seem very annoyed by the offer. 

"I don't mind," Sulu says, and Chekov knows that's a lie. "I was going to go say hi to some people and then get some lunch, do you want to come?"

"No thank you, I'm not hungry," Chekov says, though he's starving and really wants nothing more. But he doesn't want to be dragged along as an obligation to Sulu's superiors, and he can imagine the annoyed looks on the faces of Sulu's friends when they realize that they'll have a child along with them to spoil their fun. 

"Okay," Sulu says, after a pause that was a little too long. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure, thank you."

"Alright, um. Well. I guess I'll see you later, then." 

Chekov waits until he hears the door open and shut and then winces with the sob he was holding in. 

"Stupid," he mutters to himself, wiping his face. He lets out his breath and turns to look at Sulu's things. His suitcase is lying on the floor, his shoulder bag tossed onto the bed. Feeling bold, Chekov flips the bag open and looks inside. Books, notepads, folders, everything brand new for the start of the school year. Chekov pulls out Sulu's PADD and flips it on. He feels a little evil, snooping, but he's angry, and anyway, he's got nothing else to do. He opens up a file called "Pictures" and flips through Sulu's personal photographs, a collection of sunny images of Sulu hanging out with people his own age – nineteen or so, presumably. In the photographs they are drinking beer and laughing around crowded restaurant tables, lounging on the beach. Chekov sits down and lingers over a picture of Sulu in board shorts, his tanned skin shining in the sun, a surfboard lying in the sand beside him. Sulu's knees are bent and his arms are draped over them while he smiles for the camera. He has that thing that Chekov has never had: he seems _cool_ , comfortable with himself. Chekov flips to the next picture, and Sulu is in almost the same pose on the beach, but now there is a pretty Asian girl sitting behind him and kissing his face while he laughs. 

Chekov turns the PADD off and puts it away, feeling guilty. He walks to the window and stares out at the Golden Gate Bridge. The fact that his new roommate has a girlfriend somehow only makes him feel more dejected. He sighs and sits on the windowsill, tips his forehead against the glass and counts the hours until his classes start. 

*

Most of the time, Chekov avoids his roommate. Sulu asks him again and again to have dinner with him, or to go to free concerts on campus, but Chekov knows that he's asking only out of obligation, so he says 'no, thank you' to every request. He throws himself into his coursework and it is quite absorbing, comprising the most interesting and difficult assignments he's ever been given; his days are filled very fully by theory and calculation, and he finds all of his lectures fascinating. But there are certain hours, down time, when he finds himself with nothing to do and feels like a failure. These are usually the hours when Sulu is out with friends, and when he comes back to the room very late, trying to keep quiet as he takes off his clothes and drops into bed, Chekov burns with resentment that he has no name or reason for.

He has a few acquaintances in his classes, mostly older girls who think he's adorable and want to mother him. He hasn't made any real friends, and Sulu's attempts to integrate Chekov into his own circle of friends are so phony that Chekov sometimes wants to boil over and tell Sulu that he knows what he really thinks of him. Still, he tries to be pleasant, and sometimes Sulu's invitations seem so sincere that Chekov actually feels guilty turning him down. Mostly he tries to ignore Sulu as best he can. He's resigned to the fact that Sulu will be pleased with this arrangement, until Sulu starts cursing over his school books.

They have desks on opposite sides of the room, adjacent to their beds. When Sulu gets frustrated with his course work, Chekov pretends not to notice, but he was brought up to help people who are cursing in agony, and eventually he can't help turning from his own work to ask Sulu what's troubling him.

"It's this fucking chapter on Boltzmann and Saha equations," Sulu says, muttering. "I'm so sick of this shit, I swear." 

"Oh, Boltzmann? Saha? Let me see." Chekov regrets this as soon as he's said it. Back in high school, when he offered to help his peers with their work, they were either ready to openly take advantage of him or pummel him for daring to correct them, but Sulu only looks appreciative as Chekov crosses the room and leans down to look at his problem set. 

"I don't know, it's just this boundary conditions shit, it doesn't make any sense to me," Sulu says when Chekov pulls up a chair to sit beside him. He sounds embarrassed, and Chekov tries to enjoy it as revenge, but mostly he feels bad for Sulu, who has never been unkind to him, at least not to his face. 

"Here, look at this," Chekov says, erasing half of Sulu's calculations. "You're not – you've got to account for the thermal de Broglie wavelength." 

"Oh – shit – I knew that –"

"Right, but you hadn't done it, and see, it balances the equation, you just have to remember the rules."

Chekov looks up at Sulu, who is staring at him in either awe or annoyance, maybe both, and Chekov's face turns red. He looks down at the notepad he's been scribbling on.

"You have really neat handwriting," Sulu says, and Chekov waits to feel insulted by the observation, but Sulu's words didn't sound cruel. 

"I just –" Chekov says, setting Sulu's mechanical pencil down. "This is the one thing I can do."

"Oh, I bet you can do other things," Sulu says, grinning as he picks up his pencil. Chekov glances at him, waiting for the punchline, but Sulu is just filling in the de Broglie numbers, completing the equation according to Chekov's advice. 

"I – I can run," Chekov stutters, not sure if Sulu is listening. Sulu is biting down on the tip of his tongue, concentrating. "A little bit, anyway."

"Running?" Sulu says, still scribbling numbers. "That's cool. I do some fencing, my dad was really into it when I was a kid, so. He taught me."

"Fencing." Chekov doesn't know this word in English, but he'll look it up later. "That's – cool." Sulu is always saying _That's cool_ , and as much as Chekov hates to admit it, he has begun to imitate Sulu, almost unconsciously. He's gotten himself some Starfleet t-shirts like the faded ones Sulu is always wearing, and some blue jeans that are just a little too big. He bought some board shorts, too, but he still hasn't been to the beach.

"Well, thanks," Sulu says, staring at Chekov, and Chekov realizes he's lingering, lost in his thoughts and enjoying the closeness of another person. He shakes his head and apologizes – in Russian, without thinking – and hurries back to his side of the room. When he's back at his desk he looks over his shoulder to make sure Sulu isn't watching, and pulls his English to Russian dictionary from the shelf over his desk. He looks up _fencing_ and reads the definitions in Russian, deciding that Sulu probably didn't mean skillful repartee or wire used in building barriers – so Sulu likes to fight people with swords for sport. Chekov grins down at the dictionary, imagining Sulu with a saber, in his t-shirt and jeans, slashing his opponent's sword out of his hands. Chekov has heard of this actual sport, of course, it involves white costumes and swords as narrow as needles, but he still spends the next ten minutes daydreaming about Sulu holding a giant sword and laughing as he vanquishes his enemies. Then he imagines himself beside Sulu, expertly wielding a phaser, blasting away hostile aliens on some rocky planet, he and Sulu both wearing Starfleet uniforms. 

"Hey," Sulu says, clamping a hand on Chekov's shoulder and making him jump. Chekov throws his arms over the English to Russian dictionary as if it's a drawing he sketched of him and Sulu fighting aliens together. Sulu raises his eyebrows and laughs, and Chekov hates him all over again, for looking at him like that, like he's a geek and a kid and a hopeless bundle of nerves.

"Thanks again," Sulu says. "For your help with that stuff." He ruffles Chekov's hair before walking back to his side of the room, and Chekov sits there with red cheeks, trying to decide if that gesture has infuriated him further or placated him a bit.

*

Their first semester at the Academy passes quickly, and soon it's time for finals. Both of them are very serious students, so they lock themselves into their room for several days in preparation for their tests, with a portable replicator Sulu borrowed from a friend so they don't even have to leave to eat. Chekov is a little worried that Sulu will want to listen to music or take breaks for things other than sleep and eating, but their study-hibernation is surprisingly organic, and they don't even need to come up with a system for whose turn it is to replicate another pot of coffee, they just switch off without a word. When Sulu needs help with his physics Chekov is quick to his side, his only thrill in the midst of all his hard work the occasional slap on the back from Sulu in thanks. Sulu helps Chekov with his exobiology work, explaining spontaneous transfer pollination better than Chekov's professor did in class and quizzing him on the varieties of known alien plant life with flashcards. When Chekov falls asleep with his head in a book on the night before finals, Sulu wakes him so that he won't have neck cramps during his tests.

"Thank you," Chekov mutters as he crawls into his bed. He was dreaming in equations when he woke up to the feeling of Sulu squeezing his shoulder. 

"No problem," Sulu says. "And hey, Pavel?"

"Hmm?" Chekov turns on his pillow, toward Sulu's bed. He's lying on his side and staring at Chekov, looking serious and a little sad.

"Listen, um. Thanks for being such a good study partner. Or whatever you want to call it. Especially in the past couple of days – my roommate last year drove me crazy during finals week, trying to throw finals week parties and all this dumb shit. We'd gotten along great all year, but I – well. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. You're a cool guy."

Chekov is stunned into silence for a moment, then he grins, because it seems like Sulu actually means it, and maybe he feels a little guilty now for underestimating Chekov at the beginning of the year. 

"Thank you," Chekov says. "You are cool as well."

Sulu laughs and throws a pillow at Chekov, who catches it in one hand and throws it back, grinning.

"Why did you do that?" Chekov asks, a bright, hot feeling blooming in his chest.

"You're hilarious," Sulu says, as if that's an explanation. "G'night." 

They both get up with the alarm the next morning, springing out of bed like firemen, and they dress in somber silence before wishing each other good luck and hurrying to their classrooms. Sulu, like Chekov, is the type who is always fifteen minutes early for appointments. Thinking of this makes Chekov smile as he waits outside of the locked room where his first final will be held. He's still a bit high from what Sulu said to him last night. _You're a cool guy_. Maybe they can be friends after all.

Chekov's finals go well, and he's relieved at the end of the day, feeling ten pounds lighter without the weight of his exams resting on his shoulders. He's walking out of the Physics building when he sees Sulu up ahead, coming out of an emptying classroom. Chekov hurries toward him, unable to keep a grin from breaking onto his face. Maybe he will finally take Sulu up on an invitation to dinner, and they'll talk about their exams, and their plans for the two week winter break, despite Chekov having none, but maybe –

Before Chekov can reach Sulu, two guys follow him out of the classroom and flank him, talking fast and gesturing, making pained faces while Sulu laughs. Chekov hangs back, his mood darkening instantly as Sulu walks ahead with his friends, slapping their shoulders, probably on the way out for a long night of drinking, which Chekov wouldn't be able to participate in even if he were invited. He ducks around a corner and watches them walk out of the building together, crushed by the sight of Sulu's back as he gets farther and farther away.

Chekov goes back to his room alone, the dormitory already emptying out as everyone hurries away, their arms loaded with duffel bags and suitcases, off to be with their families or friends during the break. Soon the whole building has gone silent, the last happy shouts of relieved cadets who have finished their exams dying off. Chekov lies on his back in bed, his hopes that Sulu will return to the room soon slowly fading away. Already the victory he felt after completing his finals seems meaningless. He wants to celebrate with someone, with Sulu. He thinks of calling his aunt, but that just makes him feel more pathetic. 

He drifts into an unhappy sleep and wakes up after dark, when he hears Sulu punching in his code for the door. He looks down at himself, embarrassed to be lying on top of the blankets, fully dressed, and he quickly shoves his legs under the blankets and turns onto his side, pretending to still be asleep. Sulu comes in quietly, as usual, and Chekov listens to the familiar sound of Sulu's PADD being shoved into its charger on the tall, skinny bureau on his side of the room. When he hears Sulu's shoes drop to the floor he's oddly comforted; at least Sulu will be staying here with him tonight, in this dorm that feels like a ghost town.

"Pavel?" Sulu whispers, too loud, and Chekov can tell that Sulu is drunk. Chekov makes a show of moaning and rolling over onto his back to blink at Sulu, pretending to be groggy with sleep. 

"What is it?" he asks, and his stomach flips over when Sulu sits down heavily on his bed, grinning down at him.

"Hey," Sulu whispers, as if there is someone else sleeping here whom he doesn't want to wake. "How did your exams go?"

"Exams went fine," Chekov says, not wanting to brag. He's pretty sure he got a perfect score on all of them. "Yours?"

"They were good, really good," Sulu says. He looks so happy about something – the end of the term, probably.

"When are you going home to Russia?" Sulu asks. 

"Oh – I am not going," Chekov says. 

"What? Why not?"

"My aunt, she does not celebrate holidays. She is – how do you call it – an intellectual. She believes those things are frivolous." 

"Your aunt?" Sulu says. He seems to wind up to ask about Chekov's parents, but then understands that he shouldn't. "Well – don't you at least want to visit her, or your other family over there?"

"I have no other family," Chekov says. "And she – she has a boyfriend there who I do not like so much."

"I see," Sulu says, nodding. "Yeah, my parents live ten minutes from here, and I'll be there for Christmas – they're so corny, they still do a big dinner and stuff – but I'm going to stay in the dorm. The house is always packed with family around the holidays and it's a little too much noise for me." 

"I'm sorry," Chekov says. "You were probably hoping you would have this room to yourself."

"No way," Sulu says, and his smile seems so sincere, Chekov has to believe it's real. "I'm glad you'll be here. We'll have fun." 

Chekov feels like his smile is going to give something away, like the lights in the room are suddenly going to come on at full power. Sulu pats Chekov's stomach and gets up from the bed, and Chekov watches through the open bathroom door while Sulu brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face, then shuts his eyes quickly when Sulu turns back for the bedroom. Chekov's heart is pounding, and suddenly he's thinking about that girl who was kissing Sulu in the picture on the beach, and why she hasn't been around at all this semester. Maybe they broke up. Sulu climbs into his bed and sighs as he's getting comfortable, and Chekov, who is also an intellectual and doesn't believe in any silly ideas about God, says a quick prayer to nobody that he will be able to sleep in the same room with Hikaru Sulu for the rest of his life, just for that sigh. It's all he needs at the end of every day.

*

The following week is blissful for Chekov, with Sulu's attention focused solely on him, no classes to study for or friends showing up to invite him out. The campus is quiet and it feels like it belongs only to them, especially in the early mornings when Chekov makes Sulu take runs with him, cheerfully encouraging him as he runs circles around Sulu, who pants and tells Chekov that he's the fastest boy in the world. Chekov asks Sulu to teach him how to fence, but Sulu is nervous during the lesson, as if he's afraid he'll hurt Chekov, and Chekov can't really bring himself to swing a sword at Sulu, either, even when he's wearing armor. Mostly they eat and talk and watch movies together on the video screen in their dorm room. Sulu looks at Chekov like he's broken his heart when Chekov tells him he's never seen _Ghostbusters_. 

"It's an American classic!" Sulu says. They're having lunch together at an Indian restaurant that Sulu loves; Chekov is not a big fan of Indian food but he still hasn't learned how to say no to Sulu, or offer any contrary opinions that don't involve theoretical physics.

"Then I would like to see it," Chekov says, and Sulu grins. 

"Yep," Sulu says. "I'm dialing it up as soon as we get back."

Just walking across campus with Sulu is a joy for Chekov after feeling so lonely during the semester. He admits to himself that more than any other friends it is really Sulu's admiration and company he's been longing for, ever since that first day when he heard Sulu disparaging his room assignment. He feels honored to have Sulu introduce him to things: _Ghostbusters_ , Spanish guitar music, even Indian food. Every story Sulu tells about his life is fascinating to Chekov, and he collects the details like sea shells: Sulu has three sisters, he played short stop for a little league baseball team and couldn't hit, he's allergic to walnuts. Chekov knows his stories aren't as interesting, but Sulu is always willing to listen to them anyway, smiling and pretending not to notice when Chekov's face gets red or when he stumbles over the pronunciation of an English word. He doesn't even get mad when Chekov falls asleep during _Ghostbusters_ , which he can't really get into, because the special effects are just silly. 

"Hey," Sulu says, shaking him gently awake, and Chekov blinks up at him, the same warm feeling he always gets when he wakes up to Sulu's touch pooling in his stomach. 

"You want to go get dinner?" Sulu asks, and Chekov nods sleepily as he sits up, yawning. He wishes life could always be like this, drowsy and comfortable, Sulu attending to him and waking him from naps. The winter in San Francisco is so mild, and the city finally feels like Chekov hoped it would, like a new, kinder beginning to his real, adult life.

"So tomorrow's Christmas," Sulu says as they walk across campus toward the city, headed to a Korean barbecue place Sulu wants Chekov to try. Chekov still hasn't tried American barbecue, and he's having a hard time picturing what his meal will be like, but as long as Sulu is sitting across from him, his stories getting a little louder and more enthusiastic with every glass of beer, Chekov doesn't mind what kind of food they're served. 

"Christmas, yes," Chekov says. He's been dreading this day, because Sulu will be with his family, and though it's only been a week, Chekov already can't imagine what his life would be like without Sulu's constant company.

"I've told my parents about you," Sulu says, and Chekov's heart nearly bursts. He's told his aunt about Sulu, of course, extensively, in letters. "And they're more than happy to have you over for dinner if you want to come." 

"Oh, I don't know," Chekov says, afraid that he would feel awkward and out of place among Sulu's family, like a charity case. "I would not want to intrude."

"Don't be crazy, the place will be packed full of people who'll be telling me I should have been a doctor or a lawyer instead of a 'spaceman,' and I'll need an ally." 

Chekov grins, looking down at the ground as they walk. Sulu actually wants him to come. He stuffs down the urge to blurt, _Are we friends now_? He doesn't really need to ask. He feels it, and though he's never had a real friend before, this hot, achy longing in him must be what friendship is like. 

That night, Chekov lies in bed staring at the dark ceiling and trying to come up with an idea for a Christmas present for Sulu. Anything he could get out of the replicator seems cheap and too easy, so he settles on sneaking over to his desk and drawing something for him in the moonlight. It's a cartoon of Sulu with his fencing sword, fighting off an alien that looks like some kind of bird-lion-snake hybrid. Chekov decides it's not good enough it and hides it in one of his physics books, sighing. He pulls a copy of _War and Peace_ down from his bookshelf and writes a quick inscription on the title page:

_Dear Hikaru,_

_I hope you have not yet read this. Marry Christmas._

_Your devoted friend,  
Pavel A. Chekov_

He regrets the 'devoted,' because maybe that's a bit much, but he made the mistake of writing in pen and now if he scratches out the word Sulu will just wonder what it was. Sighing, he uses a spare black shoelace to tie a sloppy bow around the book and sets it on Sulu's desk chair before going to sleep. He dreams about Sulu on the beach with his surf board, watching the horizon. He can't remember the last time every thought he had wasn't bookended with Sulu's name. 

Chekov wakes up late, and when he sits up with a groan he sees Sulu at his desk, sitting in his chair and smiling down at Chekov's Christmas present, the shoelace untied and lying across his lap. When he sees that Chekov has woken up he looks over at him and laughs. 

"Thanks for the book," he says. "And the matrimonial advice."

"The – what?" Chekov asks, digging the sleep from his eyes.

"Marry Christmas." Sulu's grin widens. "It's customarily spelled with an 'e,' you know. This sounds like you're telling me to marry someone named Christmas."

"Oh." Chekov is mortified, and the thought of Sulu marrying anyone is horrible. "Sorry."

"Sorry! Don't be, this is really thoughtful, and that gave me a laugh. Here, I got you a present, too." Sulu goes to the little cabinet under his desk and opens it, removing a small package wrapped in red paper. Chekov is still too embarrassed to really appreciate the fact that Sulu got him a gift. Sulu sits on Chekov's bed and watches him open it. Inside is a white box, and when Chekov removes the lid he finds a PADD data chip inside.

"It's just some songs I like," Sulu says. "You can play it on your PADD – you've got headphones for it, right?"

"Yes," Chekov says, though he actually doesn't. He'll get some, though, and he's almost so anxious to listen to the songs Sulu chose for him that he's sorry he's not alone, but when Sulu smiles and squeezes his shoulder that regret is long gone.

That afternoon, he and Sulu take the train into the suburbs, and though Chekov is nervous about meeting Sulu's family they all make him feel welcome, nobody even remarking about his age; Sulu must have warned them not to. He is introduced to a thousand people and doesn't remember any of their names, until Sulu introduces him to Sandra, his youngest sister, who is the girl who was kissing Sulu in the picture Chekov saw on his PADD. Chekov shakes her hand the most enthusiastically, so happy to know that she's Sulu's sister and not his girlfriend that his cheeks burn, as if she'll know this. 

At dinner, he sits between Sulu and his elderly grandfather and cleans his plate. Apparently Sulu's mother is a purist who won't cook with replicated ingredients. Chekov appreciates the difference in quality, thinking guiltily about what his aunt would say about such culinary snobbery. When he's stuffed he sits back and listens to Sulu's sisters tell stories about him as a boy. Sulu drinks wine and then eggnog with whiskey, and Chekov does, too, surreptitiously and at Sulu's encouragement. 

"We used to dress him up like he was our little doll," Sandra says, smiling at Sulu across the table. "Grandma accused us of turning him into a girl." 

"Okay, so my fucking prom date was a guy," Sulu says, slurring a little. "Doesn't make me a girl." 

"Hikaru, your language!" his grandmother says. "And I never said that, Sandra, don't tell lies."

Sandra looks at Chekov and rolls her eyes, mouthing 'she did.' Chekov glances at Sulu with empathetic embarrassment, but Sulu doesn't seem humiliated. Chekov spends the rest of the evening thinking about Sulu and his prom date – are they still friends? Do they still have feelings for each other? Was he Sulu's boyfriend, or just a date? Did they have sex? Has Sulu had sex at all, with a man? With women? Chekov's cheeks burn and he begins to get drunk, squished onto the couch between Sulu and Sandra while Christmas cartoons play on television. Sulu pokes Chekov in the side and smiles crookedly at him, making Chekov's heart drop down into his stomach. 

"Hey," Sulu says. "You tired?"

Chekov nods. Most of Sulu's relatives have disappeared into the house's various guest rooms, and it's after midnight. Eating and drinking so much has made Chekov feel heavy and exhausted, and when Sulu stands from the couch he happily allows himself to be pulled up, too. 

"Where are you two going?" Sandra mutters, her eyes half-closed as she begins to drift to sleep against the arm of the couch.

"To bed," Sulu says, still holding Chekov's hand as he leads him from the couch, and something surges in Chekov, a massive wave of terrified hope, and it breaks against him, making him shudder. _To bed_. He wants to get into bed with Sulu, and, oh, God. He wants to hold onto him while he sleeps. Maybe he's just drunk. 

Sulu takes him down to the basement rec room, and Chekov stands and watches as Sulu pulls the couch bed out and messily fits it with sheets. He brings in some extra quilts and piles them at the end of the bed. 

"In case we get cold," he says. Chekov nods slowly, fighting the waves that are still crashing through him, pushing him closer and closer to some horrible realization. But he's not in love with Hikaru Sulu. No, no. This is just the way things are between friends. Anyone who has this much respect for a superior officer must want never to leave his side, and even to sleep with him, in the same bed, and to clutch at his arm, maybe.

Sulu gets into bed first, groaning with the effort of collapsing onto the pillows he's laid out. Chekov takes off his shoes, his hands shaking, and wonders if he should remove his trousers, but decides to leave them on. Sulu is fully clothed, his eyes already shut. Chekov climbs into the bed with exceptional care, not wanting to wake Sulu if he's already fallen asleep. When he settles onto the pillow beside Sulu's, he holds his breath, watching Sulu's calm, handsome face settle into sleep. He jumps a little when Sulu suddenly opens his eyes.

"Pavel," he says, and just the sound of his name on Sulu's lips makes Chekov go tense with surging happiness. "That picture. In our room. Are they – your parents?"

Chekov didn't expect that, and he tenses up further, pulling his legs to his chest. He nods, and the softness of Sulu's eyes actually makes him angry, because he's never told anyone this story before, and he can already feel it forming on his tongue. 

"Where are they?" Sulu asks. The question is so quiet and innocent that Chekov can't really get mad. He holds onto his pillow, wishing that he could squirm into the comfort of Sulu's arms before answering.

"Dead," Chekov says. Sulu doesn't react; he must have expected as much, at this point. Chekov knows he'll ask what happened, so he goes on. "They were both in Starfleet, my father was a navigator and my mother was a doctor, assigned to the same ship. My father, he was always wanting to go on missions to planets, it was something he loved. He died, on a mission. Badly – I mean to say, it was bad. My mother, she." This is the part that he's never said out loud. Even his aunt doesn't talk about it, and she abhors polite dishonesty. 

"My mother killed herself after he died." He bites the words out, wanting to get rid of them and regretting them instantly. Sulu's face changes, his mouth falling just slightly open. Chekov suddenly can't stand the sight of him and his sympathy, and he shuts his eyes. He opens them when he feels Sulu's hand pressing soft and warm against his cheek. Chekov's eyes are full of tears, and he's afraid Sulu will think that he's crying for his long dead parents, whom he doesn't even remember, but he's not even crying, not really, he's just embarrassed, because it feels so good when Sulu touches him, and Sulu has never touched him like this before.

"I'm so sorry," Sulu says, pronouncing every word carefully. Chekov nods and flinches forward, as if he's going to curl against Sulu's chest, but of course he can't do that. He sniffles, feeling like an infant. Sulu will regret bringing him here and trying to become his friend. He was right about Chekov, who is so childish and weak, a waste of Sulu's time. Chekov bites hard on his bottom lip to stop it from shaking. 

"It's okay," Sulu says softly, stroking Chekov's cheek, and that almost brings a horrible, choking sob up Chekov's throat, but he swallows it, nodding. He should move away, roll over, but he can't wrench his eyes away from Sulu's. His aunt has always told him that he's lucky to have blue eyes, that they are rare and beautiful, but Chekov has never seen any brown eyes like Sulu's, and he wants to possess them somehow, along with everything else Sulu has. He wants to hold it all in his hands like a picture book.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Sulu says, and then he takes his hand from Chekov's face, which feels like a slap. Chekov shakes his head.

"It's okay," he says. "You. You are my friend. You should know." 

"Well." Sulu sighs. "Merry Christmas, anyway. I'm – I'm glad you're here."

"So am I," Chekov says, wishing his voice wasn't so pinched up. Sulu grins, and then he rolls over, turning his back on Chekov, who watches him for awhile, the rise and fall of his breath and the twitches of his shoulders as he sinks into an easy sleep. Chekov's eyelids are heavy, but he doesn't want to give in, he wants to stay awake and stare at Sulu, who has become something enormously important in the past three months, the only thing that matters. 

"Hikaru," he says soundlessly, only moving his lips and his tongue, not making any sound. Sulu is asleep, dreaming of space. Chekov closes his eyes, hating that he knows exactly what will seep into his own subconscious. His parents: the father who didn't care enough to keep himself safe and the mother who didn't care enough to live for her son when her husband was gone. Chekov was at home with his aunt when it happened, forgotten. He's never fooled himself into expecting anything more from the people he cares about, and he hates that he wants so much from Sulu, that he wants _everything_ , because he may only be fourteen, but he's old enough to know that he won't get anything at all. 

*

The following semester passes quickly, and Chekov celebrates his fifteenth birthday in February, on what used to be called Valentine's Day. Some restaurants still put paper hearts in their windows, trying to draw nostalgic customers, and as a birthday present Sulu gets Chekov a bag of candy hearts that taste like colored sugar. Sulu asks Chekov where he wants to go for his birthday, and Chekov tells him he wants to go to the beach along the bay, someplace where he can see the Golden Gate Bridge, which he still hasn't set foot on. Of course, when they arrive on the beach, the Bridge is covered by fog and completely invisible. It's dark out, and cold, but they have jackets and knit hats and sparkling sake and the bag of candy hearts, and Chekov is perfectly content to sit beside Sulu and stare up at the cloud of fog that hides the bridge. 

It's a perfect birthday, the freezing wind off the water drawing them close together and Sulu's shoulder bumping against Chekov's when he laughs, until Sulu decides to rip Chekov's heart out. 

"So I met this guy," Sulu says, squinting out at the bay. He takes a drink from the bottle of sake and looks at Chekov. 

"Guy?" Chekov says, trying to pretend that he doesn't already know what that means. He grabs the sake and drinks. 

"Yeah, he's a xenolinguistics major. His name's Ted. Pretty stupid name, right? But I haven't dated anybody in a long time." 

Chekov stares at the sake bottle, which suddenly feels like a grenade ticking in his hands, though the perfection of the scene has already been blown to pieces. He can't look at Sulu for awhile, but Sulu is staring at him, waiting for a response. 

"You just might start seeing him around, is all," Sulu says. "I don't know how serious it is. I feel weird talking to you about this," he adds with a laugh, and Chekov snaps his eyes up to Sulu's. 

"Why?" Chekov asks. He feels like he's suspended in mid-air, drifting out hopelessly to space. 

"Because you're just a kid," Sulu says, smiling as if there's nothing unkind in this. "Like, I don't know, I don't want to corrupt you with stories of my love life or anything. But you're my best friend, and. I don't know, I wanted to tell you. What's the matter?" he asks, frowning. 

"Nothing," Chekov says. He drinks more sake. "It doesn't matter. I mean, yes, okay. A guy will be in the room. Ted. Fine. Will he be sleeping in your bed?" If his voice is shaking he can pretend it's from the cold. 

"Pavel," Sulu says, laughing. "No, he won't be in my bed. I wouldn't do that to you! And anyway, like I said, it might not even be serious, just –"

"Perhaps we should not discuss this subject because I do not date men and will not know what to say – that is, I cannot contribute to the conversation when you talk about this." Chekov is staring at the sake bottle again, his ears burning as if there is steam pouring out of them, and suddenly he hates Sulu more than anything in the world and just wants to get away from him as quickly as possible. 

"You don't date anybody, Pavel," Sulu says with a scoff. "What's that got to do – it's not like I'm looking for your _advice_ here." 

"Well, of course you are not, because I am only a child and I don't know anything," Chekov says, standing. Sulu scoffs again, scrambling up from the sand to follow him back toward the road. 

"Pavel, wait!" Sulu calls, hurrying to catch up with him. He grabs Chekov's wrist and Chekov rips away from Sulu's touch. He's been such a fool to look forward to it so much, and to imagine that there is anything but condescension and obligation behind it. 

"Jesus!" Sulu says, frowning. "I'm sorry I called you a kid, I didn't mean it like that, it's just –"

"Is fine, is nothing, I've only had too much to drink." Chekov thrusts the bottle of sake back at Sulu. 

"Okay," Sulu says slowly, staring at Chekov with what looks like sincere regret. Chekov sighs and shakes his head at himself. He can't ruin his friendship with Sulu just because he's built up some stupid fantasy about nobody ever coming between the two of them. It's not fair for him to want to live in a world where he and Sulu ignore all others and spend every waking moment together. Still, when he thinks of Sulu inviting this _Ted_ to have dinner with them and watch movies with them on the weekends, his anger boils up again. 

They walk back to their room mostly in silence, Chekov having horrible visions of Sulu kissing and cuddling Ted, who is dreamy and muscular in Chekov's imagination. When they reach the room Chekov goes straight for the bathroom and shuts himself inside, flinging his clothes to the ground angrily as he undresses. He chews his lip and manages to hold his tears in until he's under the hot water in the shower, where he presses his face against the tiles and cries with great jerks of his shoulders. Fuck Sulu and fuck Ted. They can both go right to hell. Chekov doesn't care at all.

He meets Ted three days later, when he comes to the door one afternoon to invite Sulu out to lunch. Things between Sulu and Chekov have been a bit tense since Sulu broke the news about Ted, and when Ted arrives they're both stretched out on their beds and reading in silence, not shouting out particularly fascinating or questionable excerpts to each other as they used to do, but Chekov still feels that Ted has interrupted something sacred and hates him on sight. 

He's not as handsome or impressive as Chekov feared, but he is taller than Chekov and does have big green eyes that are not wholly unattractive. Sulu introduces the two of them, still referring to Chekov as his best friend, despite the way things have been for the past few days. 

"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you," Ted says, smiling benevolently. Chekov hates his benevolence and the stupidly prominent cleft in his chin and the two-day beard on his face. He says nothing in response, only stares back at Ted with what he hopes is a subtly hateful expression, and Ted glances at Sulu nervously. 

"We were about to go get something to eat," Sulu says to Chekov. "Want to come?" Chekov can tell from his tone that he hopes Chekov will say no, and Chekov doesn't disappoint him. When they're gone Chekov lies on his bed and stares at the physics book he was reading before, but now it's as if the words are written in invisible ink. All he sees on the pages are happy images of Sulu and Ted at lunch, holding hands over the table and drinking wine and talking about civilized, adult things. 

"What's with your roommate?" Ted will ask Sulu. "He seemed kind of slow."

"Give him a break," Sulu will say with a shrug. "He's just a little kid."

Chekov falls asleep with the heavy book open over his chest and dreams that he's being crushed under a boulder. In the dream he keeps shouting Sulu's name, wondering why he hasn't shown up to help him, and then he remembers that Sulu is too busy dating to bother. He wakes up with a gasp and sees Sulu leaning over him, looking concerned. In the blur between the dream and reality Chekov's eyes almost well up with relief, but he blinks the tears away as Sulu lifts the book from his chest. 

"Your stomach's growling," Sulu says, placing the book on Chekov's bed stand table. "Haven't you eaten anything? It's almost three o'clock." 

"I don't need you telling me I should eat," Chekov says irritably. He rolls onto his side, away from Sulu. "I'm not a child." 

"I know that," Sulu says. "God! Please, just. Stop being so angry with me, okay? Try to understand, I know you're brilliant and capable but you still seem very young to me, and I feel kind of – protective of you, okay? I'm sorry. It's only because I care about you." 

Chekov scoffs, wanting to turn onto his back and reach up for Sulu, to pull him down and hold him there forever, against his chest, warm and heavy. 

"How was your date?" Chekov mumbles.

"What – lunch? I don't know, it was fine. Want me to get you something from the replicator?"

"Please," Chekov says. "I don't need this protectiveness from you. I can get my own food. I can take care of myself."

"Fine," Sulu says tightly. He gets up from the bed, and Chekov pinches his eyes shut against the beginnings of a self-pitying sob. Sulu shuts the bathroom door hard and Chekov hears the shower turn on. He swallows his emotions down and sits up glumly. The picture of his parents stares at him from his bookshelves: it's from their honeymoon on Bodega-9, and they both look so happy. Chekov thinks he understands, finally, why his mother abandoned him after she lost his father. He doesn't see the point of doing anything anymore, not if he can't be with Sulu all the time. 

The last few months of the semester are busy enough to distract Chekov from the increased presence of Ted in Sulu's life, though it still bothers him every time Ted shows up at the door with his idiotic smile, and he hates how quick Sulu is to gather his things and go when Ted arrives. The invitations to join them end, and Chekov is left alone with his studies again, telling himself that he's glad and that it's better this way, that his foolish preoccupation with Sulu was holding him back from true excellence. He tries to keep himself cold and composed when Sulu comes to him with questions about his coursework, and even when they have a rare meal together he doesn't let himself laugh as loud or smile as widely as he used to. He knows it's hurting Sulu, this new distance; he can see it. He's glad, because Sulu has hurt Chekov so badly he kind of can't believe it. Never in his life did he think he would be able to identify with the kind of despair his mother faced before she ended her own life, but this must be something close to that. He can't imagine anything worse, unless Sulu had loved him back and died.

On the day after his finals – which he's sure he aced again – Chekov returns to the room and finds Sulu sitting on the windowsill, looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge pensively. He turns and smiles when Chekov comes in, and Chekov is caught off guard enough to smile back genuinely, his heart filling with that old, dangerous hope. 

"Hey," Sulu says. "How'd your tests go?"

"They went well, I think," Chekov says, putting his things down on his bed. He walks over to the window and looks out at the Bridge, which is clear of fog today, sparkling red in the cool sunlight of early May. 

"How did your tests go?" Chekov asks, leaning against the wall. He hasn't been this close to Sulu in awhile, and he forgot how amazingly comforting and terrifying it is at the same time, his proximity. 

"They went fine," Sulu says with a shrug. "Glad they're over. Hey, you want to go get some dinner to celebrate the end of the term?"

"With Ted?" Chekov asks, the darkness of reality descending again. Sulu shakes his head.

"Nah, just you and me," he says with a smile. Chekov tries to scale his own smile back, but he can't: it breaks onto his face like the sunrise after the longest night of the year. 

"Yes, okay," Chekov says, his voice softened by surprise. 

They go to the Indian restaurant, which is crowded with students who have discovered a second wind following the exhaustion of their exams, sipping from Indian beers and spilling their rice all over the tables. Sulu and Chekov sit near the window, and Chekov can't stop smiling idiotically across the table at Sulu. He's missed having Sulu to himself so much. 

"Another year over," Sulu says. "Hard to believe. You're staying for the summer semester, right?"

"Yes, of course," Chekov says, nodding. "You?"

"Yeah, I'll be here," Sulu says. "I'm going to Hawaii with Ted during the break, and then I'll be back, but listen."

Chekov feels like he's sinking into the floor, losing his blood and his breath and everything all at once. Hawaii with Sulu. Well, he would die for that, but he's only a kid, after all. He stares down at the table.

"We're thinking about getting our own place, you know, off campus," Sulu says. "It would be close by, though, within walking distance. I was just wondering, and I talked this over with Ted and it's cool with him, if you'd like to be our roommate? You know, we could get a two-bedroom place –"

"No, thank you," Chekov somehow manages to say. He looks up slowly, and again he's filled with that sudden hatred for Sulu, only now it feels much stronger and more long-lasting. Sulu is not who he thought he was. He's not in love with Chekov. He's not going to wait for him, remaining chaste and protective until Chekov's eighteenth birthday. He's just a guy Chekov stupidly fell in love with. A mistake. 

"No?" Sulu looks hurt. "Are you sure, because –"

"No. I want to live on campus. Thank you, though. And please, forgive me, but I forgot that I promised my physics professor that I would drop a book off for him this evening." Chekov stands from the table too fast and bangs his knee on the underside, rattling the silverware and knocking over Sulu's glass of beer. Sulu curses as it spills down onto his lap, and Chekov doesn't bother to apologize, just hurries out of the restaurant as quickly as he can. 

"Pavel!" Sulu shouts across the restaurant when Chekov reaches the door. "Pavel, wait, what –"

Chekov doesn't hear the rest. He pushes outside and walks down the street with his eyes on the ground, waiting for Sulu to come running up behind him, grab his arm and demand to know why he's acting this way. But Chekov makes it all the way back to the room without any intervention from Sulu. He's breathing hard, far beyond crying, and as soon as he's shut the door behind him he goes straight for Sulu's bed, picks up Sulu's pillow and then slams it back down onto his bed as hard as he can. He does this roughly fifty times, practically spitting with the curses that are pouring out of his mouth. 

He finally cries more out of embarrassment than anger or self-pity or sadness, and falls into his bed to sob into the sheets, so tired of being this way, pathetic and hopeless, that he hopes he'll never fall in love again. 

When Sulu gets back that night, Chekov wakes from a delirious half-sleep and pulls the sheets up over his face so that Sulu won't see his red, puffy eyes. He hears the PADD click into the charger, and the boots drop to the floor. Then Sulu goes still, standing in the middle of the room for a long time. Chekov's heart begins to pound as he waits for something to happen.

"Pavel?" Sulu whispers. Chekov wants so much to respond, but he can't, Sulu will see his face in the moonlight through the window and know he's been crying. Sulu sighs and heads into the bathroom. Brushes his teeth, washes his face. His communicator beeps while he's in there, and when he walks out to pick it up Chekov can picture him so clearly: the clean white of his undershirt and the stripes on his boxer shorts, his hair sticking up a little in the back, that one floppy section bouncing as he walks. 

"Hey," Sulu whispers when he answers, and Chekov knows he's speaking to Ted. "No, that's okay. No, yeah. It's not – I'll tell you in the morning. That's alright, I've already got one foot in bed. Yeah. Alright. Love you, too. Bye." 

_I'm going to die_ , Chekov thinks as he cowers under the blankets, fresh tears stinging his sore eyes. _I'm going to die of this before morning_. 

Sulu settles into bed, sighing as he gets comfortable, and the sound is no longer a comfort; now it's more like a taunt. 

*


	2. Chapter 2

Chekov goes back to avoiding Sulu after that, and on the day when Sulu is scheduled to leave for Hawaii with Ted he makes sure he won't be there to say goodbye. He gets up at five in the morning and runs around campus for an hour, then falls onto the grass near the concert hall and stares up at the sky, mercifully too tired to do any real thinking.   
  
During the two week break before classes resume, Chekov doesn't see Sulu at all, though sometimes when he comes back to the room some of Sulu's things have been moved about or removed entirely. Sulu moves himself out gradually, his clothes disappearing from the closet in batches, then his books. Chekov tries to be in the room as little as possible, but on the last day before the start of the new semester, he comes back from a run, soaked in sweat and still panting, and finds Sulu zipping up a duffel bag, his bed stripped of its sheets and his framed photograph of the Splintari nebula lying on the bare mattress beside the bag.   
  
They stare at each other for awhile, Chekov with his heaving breath and Sulu with his mouth hanging open. Sulu presses his lips together and looks down at Chekov's sneakers.   
  
"Haven't seen you in awhile," Sulu says, his eyes still on Chekov's feet.   
  
"I have been here," Chekov says snottily. He takes his t-shirt off, then regrets this, because he doesn't want Sulu's last image of him to be his pale, skinny chest. Not that it matters at this point. Chekov has almost effectively and entirely convinced himself that he doesn't even like Sulu that much. It's harder, though, when Sulu is staring at him like this, like he wishes he didn't have to break Chekov's stupid childish heart.   
  
"Listen," Sulu says, but Chekov just walks into the bathroom.  
  
"I need to take a shower," he says. His heart feels like it's going to explode from the effort of being cruel to Sulu, but it's not as if Sulu hasn't been far more cruel to Chekov, whether he realized it or not. He should have realized it. He shouldn't have stroked Chekov's cheek that night when they talked about Chekov's parents. How could he not know that that would make Chekov fall in love with him?  
  
"Fine," Sulu says. "Okay. Whatever. Bye."   
  
Sulu hoists his duffel and tucks his picture under his arm, heading for the door. Chekov's breath is ragged now, more from emotion than running, and he walks back through the bathroom door, standing in Sulu's path and staring up at him with some horribly desperate look on his face, not knowing what he's going to do next, especially when he sees that Sulu's eyes are red-rimmed and wet.   
  
"I just," Sulu says, his voice trembling and his cheeks going pink with embarrassment. "I just don't understand what I did wrong."   
  
"Hikaru, you idiot," Chekov says, sweetly, but Sulu must not catch his intonation, because he scoffs and pushes around Chekov toward the door.   
  
"Jesus, forget it," Sulu mutters, and he's gone before Chekov can try to explain what he meant by that, that Sulu is adorably naïve not to realize how he's hurt Chekov, and so modest not to consider that Chekov's resentment might only be jealousy, and so heartbreakingly beautiful when he's crying because _Chekov has hurt him_ , which Chekov never would have thought possible. But Chekov has no hope of articulating this, so he only stands in the middle of the room for a long time, unable to do anything but watch the light change as the sun goes down.   
  
*  
  
They give Chekov a new roommate: a thirteen-year-old computer programming prodigy named Vincent. The residence hall director is very excited about this arrangement and asks Chekov to please look out for Vincent. Within five minutes of their meeting, Vincent brags that his father is a powerful Ecuadorian drug lord and that is mother is a Federation spy who is posing as a Klingon love slave in order to gain top secret information, and Chekov pretends that he believes all of this out of indifference more than politeness. Vincent is small with dark hair and big, dorky glasses, and when Chekov walks across campus with him to show him where the dining hall is located, he hears people snickering as they pass.   
  
He doesn't see Sulu at all for the first few months of the semester, which is a relief, though Chekov is always looking for him in crowds, not sure if he's hoping to find him or afraid to. When he finally spots him one day at the convenience market on campus, he hides behind a display of customizable PADDs and watches him, his heart racing. Sulu's hair is too short, as if someone gave him a bad haircut, and his jeans are too tight, as if someone stylish has tried to tell him out to dress. He's wearing a flannel shirt that for some reason makes Chekov want to cry. He catches himself imagining what it would feel like to press his face against the soft cloth of that shirt while Sulu closed his arms around him, and bolts from the store, stupidly glad that Sulu was shopping alone, without Ted. When he gets back to his room he checks Vincent's schedule to make sure he'll be in class for another few hours and climbs into bed to jerk off, abusing his cock with frantic pulls and twists of his hand until he comes to the thought of Sulu jerking his own cock in the bed across the room that is now Vincent's. Chekov half expects to burst into tears as the last of his orgasm peters out, but he just lies there staring at the ceiling, feeling hollow.   
  
He concentrates on his classwork and on hating Vincent, who is his constant companion and who never, ever stops talking. His aunt writes asking whatever happened to that Hikaru fellow he used to go on and on about, and Chekov doesn't respond. He watches _Ghostbusters_ and listens to the data file of songs that Sulu made for him over and over again, obsessing over the meaning of every lyric.   
  
"Are you depressed or something?" Vincent shouts at him one day at lunch when Chekov is zoning out during a retelling of Vincent's story about narrowly escaping from an exploding yacht.   
  
"No," Chekov says, scowling at him.   
  
"I think you are," Vincent says, sitting back. "Depression is a common genetic disorder among Russians. Like alcoholism. I told my father my roommate was Russian and he was shocked to hear that you're not a drunk."   
  
Chekov doesn't even have the energy to respond. He gets up with a groan and walks blindly out of the student mess, into piercing sunlight that he resents and squints against. He wishes it were always dark and raining. Maybe he is depressed.   
  
Vincent goes home to Ecuador for the winter break, bragging that his father will probably buy him his own jet for Christmas. Chekov is grateful for the silence of the dormitory and the time to think, though mostly he just listens to Sulu's music mix and thinks about the blissful winter break that they spent together one year ago. It seems more like it was ten years ago, and Chekov feels much older than fifteen; in certain lights he can sometimes find the first traces of wrinkles on his face already. He falls asleep at odd times and eats very little on some days, then gorges on bland replicator food on others. Sometimes he just stares at the other side of the room for hours, willing Sulu to appear amongst Vincent's shabbier things.   
  
On the day before Christmas, he wakes from a shallow nap to the sound of someone knocking on his door. Irritated, he rolls out of bed wearing the same clothes he's had on for the past two or maybe three days: flannel pants and a faded Starfleet t-shirt. When he pulls the door open with a scowl the last person he expects to find standing on the other side is Hikaru Sulu.   
  
"Hey," Sulu says, and he seems so afraid that Chekov feels incredibly guilty for the look on his face.   
  
"Hikaru," he says, feeling as if he's not speaking to the actual Sulu but to one of his fantasies. "You – how, how are you?"   
  
"I'm okay," Sulu says, smiling nervously. His hair has grown out and his jeans aren't so tight. "How – are you doing?"  
  
"I am good," Chekov says, a tremendous lie. "I've got a new roommate, oh, Hikaru, he is horrible. He's thirteen and he lies all the time, everything he says is a lie or an insult to me."   
  
"God." Sulu looks sincerely upset about this. "That sucks. I'm sorry – I – maybe I shouldn't have moved out, I don't know." He stops himself there abruptly, as if he didn't intend to say that or very much at all.   
  
"Anyway," Sulu says, laughing. "I was just wondering, I mean I just thought I'd come by, because last year you were alone on Christmas, and I thought. I don't know. If you want to come over and have Christmas with my family, I'd. Like that. If you came."  
  
"Oh, I don't know." Chekov wants that more than anything, more than his next fucking breath, but if he has to watch Sulu hold hands with Ted at the table he'll go out of his mind.   
  
"I just really miss you," Sulu blurts, and then he shuts his eyes, shakes his head. "I mean –"  
  
"I miss you, too," Chekov says quickly, before he loses his nerve. "I'm sorry I was – I was horrible, I –"  
  
"No, God, it's alright, I know I kind of ditched you for my boyfriend, that was so shitty – he's – he's not coming, by the way, to Christmas, he's in Ohio with his family."   
  
"Oh." Chekov breathes out in immense relief and smiles, but he's learned his lesson, and he won't let his hopes rise too high. "Are you still living with him?"  
  
"Yeah." Sulu shrugs. "He got mad at me right before he left because I didn't want to go with him and meet his family. God, I." He grins. "I miss telling you everything."   
  
"Me too." Chekov is beaming, and his hopes are through the roof, clearing the atmosphere, he can't help it, never could. "Not that I have anything to tell."   
  
"Sure you do. This new roommate – I want to hear it all. I've got to confess –" He smirks. "I was kind of hoping you hated your new one. You know, that I still held the record or whatever."   
  
"You still hold the record," Chekov says, grinning so hard it hurts.   
  
Sulu takes Chekov across campus to his apartment and makes him dinner with real ingredients, nothing replicated. They eat linguine and drink cheap white wine at the bar that looks into Sulu's little kitchen, and Chekov is drunk enough to pretend that this is his apartment with Sulu and to ignore the pictures of Ted that are stuck to the refrigerator with magnets. They talk about everything: Chekov's nightmare of a roommate, Sulu's fights with Ted, classes and physics and xenobiology and their impatience to graduate and be sent into space.  
  
"I love that data file you made for me, that music," Chekov says when the wine is gone and they've moved to the couch, where Sulu is sipping from a short glass of scotch, passing it to Chekov intermittently.   
  
"Oh, the one I made for you for Christmas last year?" Sulu grins. "Well, awesome. I'll make you another one tonight, then."  
  
"I love that one song about everybody wanting to rule the world," Chekov says, leaning his head against the back of the couch, and Sulu laughs.   
  
"Tears for Fears?" he says. "Yeah, that's a real oldie. I knew you'd like the old stuff. Nobody does, usually, but you, I knew you'd like it."  
  
"Why, Hikaru?" Chekov asks, grinning stupidly, imaging that he's being flirtatious when he's probably only coming off as drunk and ridiculous.   
  
"Because," Sulu says with a shrug. "You just. Get me, I think. In a weird way. And I like that old stuff, so. I don't know, whatever. Here." He hands Chekov the scotch and watches him drink from the glass before taking it back. "Here I go corrupting you again," he says.   
  
"I am corrupted long before you, Hikaru."   
  
"Oh, bull- _shit_. You're so fucking innocent. You're, like. The last pure thing in the world."   
  
Sulu looks down at his lap and scoffs as if he's sorry he said that. Chekov leans closer to him, too drunk to care if he's being forward.   
  
"Anyway, you can sleep here," Sulu says, practically jumping up from the couch. "I'll get you, um. A toothbrush from the replicator."  
  
When Sulu returns Chekov is mostly asleep, his cheek pressed to the couch cushions and his clothes still on. He hears Sulu laugh a little at the sight and keeps his eyes shut; he can brush his teeth in the morning, he's too tired and too desperately happy. Sulu goes away and then returns with a blanket that he drapes carefully over Chekov, tucking it around his shoulders. He sighs near Chekov's ear before leaving, and Chekov has missed that sigh so much, more than he thought he possibly could.   
  
He dreams about kissing Sulu as snow falls around them, amazed that the cold isn't reaching them though they're not really dressed for the weather. Sulu is holding Chekov's face and kissing his cheeks like he believes Chekov is the only sacred thing in the universe, the only thing innocent and pure, like he said, his eyes almost wet with sincerity.   
  
In the morning he wakes to the smell of food cooking and stumbles into the kitchen, where Sulu is pushing sausages around in a frying pan. He grins at Chekov, and Chekov has never seen anything more endearing than Sulu's hair in the morning, when it's sticking up in three places. He's missed that, and everything.   
  
"Hope you don't have any ethical objections to eating non-replicated meat," Sulu says.   
  
"I have none," Chekov says. He wants to lean against Sulu's back and wrap his arms around his waist, as if they made love last night and this is the sweet morning after. "Thank you for cooking."  
  
"Hey, I don't mind. Have a seat," Sulu says, flicking his head in the direction of the kitchen table, where there is a little wrapped package waiting for Chekov. He opens it while Sulu scoops their breakfast onto plates: it's another data file, this one labeled OLD SONGS FOR PAVEL, WHO APPRECIATES THEM.   
  
"Thank you," Chekov says, holding the data file and blushing as Sulu sits beside him, setting the plates down. "I'm sorry I don't have anything –"  
  
"Hey," Sulu says, elbowing him. "You're here. It's enough. And anyway, I'm still working on _War and Peace_."   
  
They spend the rest of the afternoon slumped on Sulu's couch and talking over muted television programs, laughing about their professors and telling stories about their more eccentric classmates.   
  
"There's this guy named Jim Kirk in my Astrophysics III lab," Sulu says. "Well, he was supposed to be, anyway. Showed up the first day and for the exam, that's it. The teacher of course wanted to fail him on principle, but somehow he aced the exam. They're holding a disciplinary meeting about it this week, I heard. The guy's a real asshole," Sulu adds with a scoff. "Thinks he's God's gift to women, men, aliens, everybody."   
  
Chekov could do nothing but listen to Sulu talk and eat his cooking for weeks – months – and he wishes it were enough, that he didn't want to put his head in Sulu's lap and have Sulu stroke his hair while he tells his stories. He wishes he only wanted Sulu as a friend, because he knows that's the only way Sulu wants him.   
  
They dress for dinner in the room that Sulu presumably shares with Ted. There's something off about the smell in the room – it's half Sulu, which makes Chekov want to linger and sink into the sheets, but half some unfamiliar, less perfect thing, and it makes him want to shudder and run away. They're quiet on the way to the train station, but it isn't tense or awkward, and when Chekov smiles over at Sulu at random intervals, Sulu is always quick to smile back.   
  
"So what do you think of _War and Peace_ so far?" Chekov asks.  
  
"Oh, it's good, I guess. I was kind of disappointed that there wasn't anybody named Pavel in it, or at least there hasn't been so far."   
  
Chekov laughs and lets himself stumble against Sulu in a teasing sort of fashion. He wonders if this is the only way he'll ever feel this unburdened and complete: when he's with Sulu, when it's just the two of them. If so, he might be doomed, but in the moment it doesn't matter, because he's with Sulu now, and the rest of the world, even the past, even the future, has melted to nothing in the background.   
  
Everyone in Sulu's family at least pretends to remember Chekov, and Sulu's sisters hug him like he's an old friend. The dinner is six courses and three hours long, and Chekov is hopelessly drunk by the end of it, close to allowing himself to lay his head on Sulu's shoulder with exhaustion. When he learns that there is no place for him and Sulu to sleep and that they'll have to walk back to the train station and then to Sulu's apartment he wants to cry, but at the same time he's glad for the chance to be alone with Sulu again.   
  
"Did you have fun?" Sulu asks as they tromp to the train station, their breath visible in the cold northern air. Chekov nods drowsily, and Sulu laughs, slinging an arm around Chekov's shoulders.   
  
"You gonna make it to the station?" Sulu asks, his voice so close to Chekov's ear that Chekov could swear, for half a second, that Sulu must be in love with him after all.  
  
"I think so," Chekov says, and he does, just barely. He's asleep as soon as his ass finds his seat on the mostly empty train. He doesn't hesitate to slump against Sulu, and Sulu doesn't push him away. Chekov is sorry that he has to sleep at all, especially when he wakes at moments to the warm press of Sulu's jacket sleeve against his cheek and the blur of the dark countryside through the window. He listens to Sulu's contented sighs when he can, only dreaming some of them.  
  
Somehow he ends up on Sulu's back, his legs wrapped around Sulu's waist and his arms around Sulu's shoulders as they make their way back to Sulu's apartment. He can hear Sulu's heavy breathing and feels guilty for needing to be carried, but too comfortable and exhausted to do anything about it. He puts his dry lips against Sulu's neck and counts Sulu's rapid heartbeats as they boom against his ear. The whole world is so quiet around them, sleeping, and Sulu's footsteps echo against the cold pavement.  
  
"Here we go," Sulu huffs out when he finally gets Chekov into his bedroom. He deposits Chekov carefully onto his bed, and Chekov only allows himself a single resentful thought about Ted getting to sleep here with Sulu and probably not even appreciating it. He moans and reaches for a pillow that he hopes is Sulu's, breathing in the smell of it and smiling against the pillow cover when he realizes that it must be Sulu's. It's all Sulu's hair and skin and breath, it's the thing he sleeps against every night, and Chekov envies it as he wraps himself around it. He listens to the sounds he loves more than any music Sulu could ever put on a data file for him: that sharp rap of Sulu's toothbrush against the sink, the way he blows his breath out into the towel as he dries his face, and finally his sigh as he climbs into bed beside Chekov. He's still too far away, and the bed is so damn big that Chekov doesn't have the energy to push himself across it and press his face drunkenly against Sulu's shoulder. He tells himself he should be grateful about this, or that he will be in the morning, anyway, and then he's sucked down into sleep.   
  
He wakes up with a pounding headache, the sun still only a dull promise through the curtained windows. Moaning, he rolls over to face Sulu, who is asleep on his stomach, his face turned toward Chekov and his arms pushed up over his head. Chekov almost whimpers, almost wishes Sulu didn't exist, because he can't be in the world and know that Sulu is too, and that they won't always be together like this. He scoots closer, not quite hopeful but delirious enough not to care what will happen. Sulu cracks his eyes open when Chekov is close enough to see the goosebumps that rise on Sulu's arms as he takes Chekov in. They don't speak, but Chekov feels like he's admitting everything. Sulu's eyes go from soft and confused to sympathetic and then startled.   
  
"Oh," he says, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He rubs at his eyes and moans, the sound going straight to Chekov's morning wood. "What time is it?"  
  
"I don't know," Chekov says. His voice is all scratched up from sleep, deeper than usual, and Sulu looks at him in a way that makes Chekov wonder if he's noticed this.  
  
"I –" Sulu stares at Chekov for a moment, as if he's lost his train of thought. "I've got to – I was going to meet Ted at the teleportation bay, he's coming home from Ohio, I –" He throws himself out of bed, and Chekov can see him wince through his own headache. Chekov stays motionless in bed, watching Sulu walk to the bathroom with his own morning wood poking a tent in his sweatpants.   
  
"I'm sorry, I should have set an alarm," Sulu says as he shuts the door behind him. Chekov shuts his eyes again and listens to the shower come on in the bathroom. He imagines being brave enough to walk in and slip into the shower behind Sulu, to press his naked body to Sulu's and kiss the back of his neck until he gave in and pinned Chekov to the shower wall. But Chekov has never kissed anybody, and he couldn't seduce someone if his life depended on it. He would shake and stutter and Sulu would be horrified. He sighs into Sulu's sheets, wishing he even had the balls to jerk off in Sulu's bed before he reappears.   
  
Chekov doesn't want to lose Sulu again, he wouldn't survive it, so he doesn't pitch a fit about the mention of Ted and doesn't pull his cock out to get off before he leaves. He dresses in the semi-dark of the bedroom, his temples throbbing, and makes his way out into the living area so that Sulu will have privacy to dress. He wanders around looking at the things that Sulu and Ted have amassed together: furniture, pictures, framed art, all in such a short time. Sulu's music file is in Chekov's pocket, and he turns it between his fingers, already feeling like it's something he's stolen.   
  
"Want me to walk you back to your room?" Sulu asks when he steps out of his bedroom, his hair wet and combed too neatly. He's wearing those tight jeans again, and a blazer over a white shirt, which makes Chekov want to laugh out loud.   
  
"You don't have to," Chekov says, and it finally hits him that this brief reprieve from the endless nightmare of life without Sulu is seconds from ending.   
  
"Here," Sulu says. He goes to the kitchen and digs through cabinets, coming up with some aspirin and a glass that he fills with tap water. He gives both to Chekov and watches him drink the pills down.   
  
"How'd you know I had a headache?" Chekov asks, breathless from gulping water. Sulu shrugs.  
  
"You drank a lot last night, and I've got one, so." Sulu pushes his lips together, and for a moment he looks so sad that Chekov wants to tell him everything is going to be alright, even though it won't be, not for Chekov, anyway, not as soon as he's ushered out the door.   
  
"Hey, we're having a New Year's Eve party here on Thursday," Sulu says. "It'll start around nine, I guess. You should come."   
  
"Okay," Chekov says, though he hates the _we_. He's learned his lesson. He'll take any excuse to see Sulu, and he'll endure any amount of Ted.   
  
"Well. It was so good to see you." Sulu seems so nervous, and Chekov doesn't understand why. He's still half asleep and wants to beg Sulu to just take him back to bed, even if they only lie there and sleep for another couple of hours.   
  
"Good to see you, yes," Chekov says. "And on Thursday, I'll come, I will see you then."   
  
"Okay." Sulu fidgets for a moment, then swoops in and pulls Chekov into a fierce hug, as if he won't see him again for five years, not five days. "Just," Sulu says, patting Chekov's back, then rubbing it. "Take care."   
  
Chekov stumbles out of Sulu's apartment, confused and achy despite the aspirin. He walks home without stopping, and when he gets through the door of his room he goes straight for the bathroom and throws up, the nausea setting in with alarming suddenness. He stays on his knees in front of the toilet for awhile, dazed and shaking. The way Sulu had looked at him just before he left, as if he were terrified of spending another second with Chekov, as if – but no. He won't hope, he won't put himself through that again. Sulu was only afraid that Chekov would get the wrong idea, that he would again hate Sulu for not loving him enough.   
  
The next five days pass in a haze of Sulu's music and bouts of furious masturbation. Chekov's fantasies grow more intense and intricate as the days pass, and he blushes terribly the first time he pushes his fingers into his ass, imagining Sulu's cock there instead. It doesn't feel like he thought it would, electric and easy; it's slow and it burns, but somehow this is even better than what he expected. He takes a lot of hot showers and checks his PADD for new messages every five minutes, but Sulu doesn't send any, and even his aunt seems to have stopped talking to him since he ignored her last communication.  
  
On New Year's Eve, he feels stupidly thrilled about the chance to see Sulu again until around five o'clock, when he forces himself to realize that he's not going to show up at Sulu's apartment and spend the evening laughing with him on the couch until he falls asleep against Sulu's shoulder. This is going to be a party full of Sulu's friends, who will look at Chekov as if he's terribly out of place, and Ted will be there, pinching Sulu's ass and kissing his cheeks and doing god knows what else. He forces himself to at least try to feel a little glum as he heads towards Sulu's apartment, and to expect nothing less than heartbreak and disappointment, but there is an irrepressible little flame of pure joy in his heart at the very prospect of glimpsing Sulu at all that cannot be snuffed.   
  
By the time he gets to Sulu's place, at exactly nine o'clock, his heart is pounding and the sound of music playing loudly inside the apartment makes him want to turn and run. But he knocks, steeling himself for the sight of Ted's face when he hears the doorknob turn. Instead, it's Sulu who opens the door, and Chekov wants to believe that the light that jumps into Sulu's eyes when he sees Chekov exists only for him.   
  
"Hey," Sulu says, stepping back to allow Chekov inside. "You're early."  
  
"Early?" The apartment is empty, bowls of snack foods on the bar in the kitchen and the music booming from the stereo the only sign that there is a party planned here at all. "Hikaru, you told me nine o'clock."  
  
"Right, well." Sulu laughs and heads into the kitchen. Chekov follows close behind, scanning the place for any sign of Ted, but there's none. "Most people don't arrive right at the start – never mind, I'm glad you're here. You can help me set up. Ted had to run to the store to get beer, he was going to replicate it, but that's ridiculous – you want something to drink?"  
  
"Sure," Chekov says, a bit overwhelmed by the information that he has in fact shown up to find Sulu alone, at least for now. He drinks a glass of wine and helps Sulu chop carrots into little bite-sized sticks.   
  
"So what have you been doing since I saw you last?" Sulu asks, and Chekov keeps his eyes down on his work, his cheeks burning. _Well, Hikaru, I've been fucking myself with my fingers while I think of you, then, here's the best part, after I clean up I'll sleep with my arm around my pillow and pretend you're holding me, usually while listening to that one song you gave me, the quiet one with no words_.   
  
"Studying," Chekov says. Sulu shakes his head.   
  
"You're gonna end up captaining the vessel I pilot, aren't you?" he says, elbowing Chekov. "I'm going to be calling you 'sir.'"   
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says with a grin, scolding him.   
  
"You watch, it'll happen."  
  
And so Chekov is actually tricked into forgetting what lies ahead for one moment, but then suddenly Ted is coming through the door with a case of beer under his arm, and it all comes crashing back much more harshly than it should have. The worst part about the sick feeling that grows in Chekov's stomach as Ted walks into the kitchen is that it's something he should be able to fight or ignore, to reason away and dismiss. But he can't, he just can't, it's too big, and he stares down at the carrots as if he no longer knows what to do with them.  
  
"Hey, Pavel!" Ted says, grinning at him like they're old friends. Chekov smiles politely and pretends to be busy with the carrots. "How are you?" Ted asks as Sulu starts loading the beers into the refrigerator. At least they didn't kiss hello.  
  
"I'm fine," Chekov says. "Early for the party, I think."   
  
"That's okay -- Jesus, Hikaru, what is this music?"  
  
"You want something else, you can change it," Sulu says. Chekov wonders if he should be obnoxious and defend Sulu's music, but then he doesn't say anything, just watches the tight set of Sulu's jaw as he dumps a can of peanuts into a plastic bowl. Sulu glances at him, and Chekov jumps a little, caught staring.   
  
"Ted's not a fan of my taste in music," Sulu says as Ted goes into the living room to change out the data file Sulu has playing.   
  
"I like it," Chekov says softly, feeling ridiculous. In truth, he only likes about fifty percent of the songs Sulu has given him so far. But the ones that he likes, he really, really likes, and he sometimes listens to certain songs nonstop for days at a time as he leans over his classwork.  
  
People begin to arrive, and Chekov stays glued to Sulu's side, because he doesn't know anyone else at the party except Ted. He sips from a glass of wine when he's nervous and doesn't have anything to say, so by ten o'clock he's fairly tipsy, laughing at jokes that he doesn't really get. Sulu keeps himself busy in the kitchen and Chekov dashes around helping him with napkins and drink refills.   
  
"I always forget that I hate throwing parties," Sulu says as Chekov hands him a drink that's spitting over the rim of the glass with carbonation. Their hands touch on the slippery glass, and Chekov feels something heavy settle into his chest when their eyes meet, but maybe he's just had too much to drink. He doesn't actually like drinking very much at all, but he refills his glass of wine just to have something to do with his hands while Sulu goes out to the party to deliver the cocktail Chekov made to whoever asked for it. He watches Sulu from the kitchen doorway, talking and laughing with other young men and women who are dressed in stylish clothes, many of them with scarves loosely draped around their shoulders despite the fact that it's perfectly warm in Sulu's apartment. The women wear short skirts and high boots, and the men are in buttoned shirts and jeans. Chekov is wearing a zip-up fleece sweater and his nicest slacks: he got the combination all wrong. He should have known, somehow, to wear a dressy top and more casual pants. He'll never be good at this stuff. He wishes that Sulu weren't the only one in the world who doesn't seem to care, or even notice, that he's not.   
  
Sulu comes back into the kitchen with his hands full of empty wine glasses, and Chekov helps him bring them to the sink. He appreciates the fact that Sulu isn't prodding him to mingle. Sulu must know that Chekov is only here for him.   
  
"Thanks for your help," Sulu says as he and Chekov load the glasses into the dish refresher. "I didn't think this many people would show up."  
  
"This is the first party I've ever been to," Chekov says, idiotically. His cheeks burn when Sulu looks up to grin at him.   
  
"Sorry it's so lame," Sulu says.   
  
"It's not lame. Maybe I am making it lame for you?"  
  
"No, Pavel, you're not." Sulu shuts the dish refresher and it dings almost instantly with a set of newly replicated glasses. "I'm glad you're here," Sulu says. "I'm always --" He shrugs and laughs a little, looking out toward the party.   
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says. He's swaying on his feet, the music that is pounding over the noise of the party making him feel dizzy. "Where is your bathroom, please?"  
  
"Oh, uh, you can use the one in the master. You remember where the bedroom is, right?"  
  
Both of them turn so brilliantly red that they have to laugh nervously at each other before Chekov turns on his heels and heads out into the crowd. He pushes past people as politely as he can, his head spinning from the drink and the noise and the way Sulu blushed at the word _bedroom_. He wonders if Ted knows that Sulu spent Christmas with Chekov. It's not as if he'd be jealous, but then again maybe he would be, because he wanted Sulu to spend Christmas with him in Ohio, but Sulu wouldn't go, because -- because he wanted to stay in San Francisco and make sure that Chekov wasn't spending the holiday alone? Chekov is grinning widely by the time he shuts himself into the master bathroom, the party's thumps and shrieks muffled and distant. What if Sulu loves him? Is it even possible? What if he wants to come back and live in the dorms with Chekov and sleep in his bed and teach him everything, slow and patient and breathless when he calls him _Pasha_ the way he does in Chekov's fantasies --   
  
He breaks from his reverie when he spots an open box of condoms sitting on the bathroom counter beside the shaving gel and a cup that contains two toothbrushes. At first it's the condoms that bother him, but then it's the toothbrushes. One is yellow and the other is red. Chekov's vision swims as he stares at them, wondering which one is Sulu's, and if he and Ted brush their teeth together every night before they reach into the box of condoms. He splashes water on his face and tells himself to snap out of it. Sulu wants to go to bed with a man, not a boy who will tremble cluelessly beneath him. He groans and rubs his face dry with a towel that smells like Sulu's t-shirts used to, because he likes his laundry done the old-fashioned way, with a machine and detergent instead of a replicator.   
  
"I like to recognize my clothes," Sulu said when he explained this to Chekov last year. "Clones just aren't the same. I don't know." He'd grinned. "I'm weird."  
  
Chekov walks back out into the apartment in a daze, so tired of feeling like this, like everything Sulu has ever done or said is significant and almost holy. He's tried of the always growing list of reasons he loves Sulu, like how Sulu does his laundry, and the philosophical reasoning behind it, and the way those t-shirts smelled when Sulu had hovered over Chekov's shoulders as he sat at his desk, leaning down to point out a footnote in one of his textbooks. He hates that he has the list memorized like a star chart, that he knows it backward and forward, because there's no final exam to prepare for, no use for it at all.  
  
People have started dancing, laughing and pink-cheeked with drunkenness. Chekov bumps into elbows and shoulders as he makes his way back toward the kitchen, hoping that Sulu will be there waiting for him. He wants to tell all of these people to go away, and Ted, too. He wants to help Sulu clean the place up and fall exhausted with him onto the sofa, stretched out between Sulu and the cushions, he wants to sleep in Sulu's arms until their classes resume. Oh, but who cares what he wants? He bounces off a fat guy who smells like nachos and crashes against the wall. Sulu is in the kitchen, Chekov can see him from where he's landed, but Ted is with him, helping him put plates in the refresher.   
  
"It's so old-fashioned to even serve food at a party," Ted says.  
  
"People like old-fashioned stuff," Sulu says. "You like me, don't you?" he asks, grinning. Chekov ducks back into the shadows of the corner he's landed in. He shouldn't stay and watch, he should just go, there's nothing for him here but the heartbreak of reality, but he can't help it, can't move.   
  
"Where's your little shadow?" Ted asks. He leans back against the kitchen counter, holding a beer bottle and grinning when Sulu looks at him in confusion.  
  
"Huh?" Sulu says. "Oh – Pavel?"  
  
"Yeah. He's barely left your side all night. He's so in love with you, Hikaru," Ted says, laughing.   
  
"Shut up," Sulu says, punching Ted's shoulder. And then he smiles a little, at Ted, as if this is their private joke, and it's such a clean cut, passing easily through Chekov's ribs, cleaving everything that meant anything in half, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.   
  
"Jesus," Sulu says. He leans against Ted and looks up into his eyes, shaking his head. "That's all I need."  
  
And then they kiss, chastely, grinning at each other like they feel sorry for everyone who isn't them. The world has always been this way and Chekov just has to keep getting reminded.   
  
He's outside in the cold without really understanding how he got himself here. He just walks, looking mostly at the asphalt. The streets are empty, everyone inside, counting toward the New Year. Many of the once traditional holidays have fallen away or been very watered down, but the celebrations at the end of the year persist. Chekov wishes it would snow. He wishes he were home, that he'd never left. He wishes he were dead, and he starts crying for his mother, who once made sure she got her wish when she felt the same way.   
  
By the time he gets to the dormitory, he feels like he doesn't deserve to set foot on the grounds of this or any school. He's such a tremendous idiot, and getting people to believe that he's a genius is just a great trick, something he's not even sure how he's done. Maybe it's just because he's so hopeless, so devoted to books because they're the only things that never deserted him. Maybe it's only because he isn't good at anything else; people must call him a genius out of pity. He feels like the dumbest boy in the history of the world, and he falls into bed in a blinding cloud of self pity.   
  
His actual, ultimately useless intelligence tells him that this happens to everyone. That he's not unique and that he's not the only person who has ever felt betrayed by someone who never promised to love him anyway. He'll wake up in the morning with puffy cheeks and a horrible hangover and resolve to hate Sulu and Ted and make himself hard and bitter. _Love humiliates, hatred cradles_. Where did he read that? One of his aunt's books, some cynical American novel. He hates being smart enough to already know how he'll try to cope and how it will only cripple him. He wishes he were the kind of idiot who would grab Sulu's face and kiss him hard, not caring what happened. It would be better than this impotent, private humiliation. At least he would know the taste of Sulu's laughing mouth.  
  
He falls into something like sleep, tossing and turning every two minutes and hating the fact that he has to keep waking up and remembering everything. He grinds his teeth in his sleep, has since he was eight years old and used to wear a night guard to prevent it, but he stopped wearing it when he started sharing a room with Sulu, because he looked ridiculous enough without it. His jaw is sore with tension by the time he wakes to the sound of someone pounding frantically on his door.   
  
"Pavel?" It's Sulu, of course it's Sulu, though actually, half-asleep, this makes no sense to Chekov and he wonders if he's dreaming. But he never has dreams about Sulu, not anymore, because he wants them too much.   
  
"Pavel? Hello?" Sulu sounds like he's close to hyperventilating, and Chekov goes to the door, forgetting to hate him and only wanting to make him sound not so scared. When he opens the door, for maybe two seconds it's like he's finally found what he's always been looking for, Sulu frantic to see him and endlessly relieved by the sight of his face. Then Sulu grabs the door frame with both hands and glares at him.  
  
"What the fuck?" he says. He's had more to drink than Chekov, that's obvious. Chekov is drowsy and sad enough to not care what happens next, and he scoffs.   
  
"What?" Chekov says, as if it's news to him that Sulu has any concern about his whereabouts.   
  
"Where the—?" Sulu only stares at Chekov, expecting him to fill in the rest, and Chekov stares back as if he can't imagine how he could, though he knows exactly what Sulu wants to hear, apologies and reassurances.  
  
"You just fucking disappeared!" Sulu says. "Are you okay?" he adds quickly, his face changing.   
  
"Of course I am okay, Hikaru, please, I was asleep." Chekov forces himself to picture Sulu and Ted in the kitchen at their apartment, laughing about him. It's so hard to hate Sulu when he's standing there looking concerned.   
  
"I thought -- Jesus, I don't know what I thought, I'm drunk, Ted told me you probably just left, but I kept telling him you would have said goodbye to me and then I thought you'd gotten kidnapped by one of those guys at the party or that you'd end up falling into the bay or something and they'd find you and it'd be my fault cause I gave you alcohol even though you're underage --"  
  
The urge to be charmed by Sulu's frantic rambling rises up in Chekov's chest, but he pushes it down and frowns.  
  
"I'm not a child, Hikaru, I can walk home from a party without ending up in the bay."   
  
"Well, why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"  
  
"You were busy, I was bored, I left." Chekov shrugs, staring at Sulu with his best blank-faced expression. He perfected it in school, because crying only encouraged the bullies who tormented him.   
  
Sulu looks like he doesn't know what to say next, like he can't decide if he wants to get angry or hug Chekov with relief. He scoffs and looks up and down the empty hall. There's a small party going on at the end of the hall, and Chekov can hear the people inside begin to shout out a countdown as the last seconds of the year tick by. Sulu sighs heavily, still staring at Chekov like he's waiting for an apology.   
  
"You can go, Hikaru," Chekov says, keeping his face blank. "I'm fine."   
  
The countdown reaches zero and the people down the hall begin cheering in celebration of the New Year. Again, Chekov wishes he were stupid enough to lean forward and just kiss Sulu's mouth, or even his cheeks; he would give anything to have his lips on Sulu's skin, it doesn't matter where, every inch of him is sacred and Chekov's mouth is wet with wanting him. He wishes Sulu would just go, because Chekov won't be able to hate him properly until Sulu abandons him again.   
  
"Happy New Year, anyway," Sulu mutters, and he stares at Chekov for a few seconds before turning to go. Chekov shuts himself in his room quickly, his heart thudding back to life, and apparently he'll never fucking learn. Already he's thinking that Sulu looked like he wanted to kiss him. He wishes he could remove the malfunctioning part of his mind that just can't accept that Hikaru Sulu will never be in love with him. It would be a lot easier if Sulu would simply disappear, but Chekov would rather spend the rest of his life in this agony than never get to see him again.  
  
*  
  
He doesn't see or hear from Sulu at all over the next two days, but when classes resume he and Sulu are the first people to show up for Chekov's nine AM class. They grin at each other nervously as they lean against the wall by the classroom door, waiting for the professor to show up and unlock it.  
  
"You're in this class?" Sulu says. Chekov thinks he actually looks a little unhappy about this. He hates that he's let his feelings for Sulu ruin their friendship; back when they lived together they were always saying that they wished they had some classes together so they could share notes.   
  
"Yes," Chekov says. "Advanced Subspace Geometry."   
  
Then they just stare at each other for a few seconds, still smiling uncomfortably.   
  
"Well, good," Sulu says. "We can study together."  
  
"Yes, like old times," Chekov says, though they both know it will be nothing like the way things once were, easy and uncomplicated. Chekov wishes he had the strength of will to at least pretend that things could be that way again, but he doesn't and he can't, not with Ted around to ruin the things that used to seem to belong solely to Chekov, like those long conversations about temporal mechanics over dinner and the way Sulu would laugh when Chekov's hair stuck up particularly wildly on weekend mornings. Whenever Chekov opens his mouth around Sulu he's always in danger of accidentally saying _I miss sleeping with you_. He misses rolling over in the middle of the night and knowing that Sulu was only four feet away in his own skinny bed, the shape of his shoulders like mountains in the distance. This is why they can't really be friends.   
  
Class seems to go by too quickly, and soon Chekov and Sulu are heading for the door with the other twenty or so students, Sulu of course in the company of his chattering friends. Chekov lingers behind them, pretending to read from his PADD as he walks down the hall.   
  
"What've you got next?" one of Sulu's friends asks him.   
  
"Flight training," Sulu says.   
  
"Man, fuck you!" his friend says, smacking Sulu's shoulder. "They're actually letting you fly this semester?"  
  
"Yep." Sulu sounds so smug, and Chekov grins down at his PADD, picturing the bragging smile on his face. "First three weeks are just jets. Then we do spacecraft."  
  
"So what, you're going to be a pilot now?" the other guy says. "I thought you were going to grow plants in zero gravity environments or some xenobio shit."   
  
"Changed my mind," Sulu says. Chekov knows why. Last year, Sulu took a combat simulation course and apparently set some kind of evasion record during the final exam. Since then, he's taken some sort of flight class every semester.  
  
Chekov drops back into the crowd before Sulu can realize that Chekov is following him around -- his little shadow -- and heads toward his next class. He gets a seat near the window, and for the first time in his life he has trouble paying attention, because he keeps watching the sky. When he finally sees three Federation jets streak noisily past he grins up at them, thinking of Sulu in the co-pilot's seat beside his professor, pretending to be calm while his heart pounds with nerves and excitement.   
  
He and Sulu are civil to each other in class, and sometimes they even study together, always in the library and always quietly, talking only about their classwork, until one day when Sulu gets a new message on his PADD as Chekov is quizzing him on the properties of coaxial warp theory.   
  
Sulu picks up the PADD and scoffs in annoyance when he sees the message. He drops it back to the table a little harder than he needed to.   
  
"Whatever," he mutters, leaning toward Chekov and the notebook he's reading from.  
  
"Is everything okay?" Chekov asks.  
  
"Yeah, it's fine," Sulu says, shaking his head. "It's just. Ted brought this fucking dog home the other day."   
  
"A dog?" The undying, hopeful thing that Chekov has tried to bury perks its ears up.   
  
"Yeah, like, without asking me, he comes home with this freaking Labrador retriever one day, apparently his friend was moving and couldn't take care of it anymore, anyway it's way too big for that apartment and it's a fucking pain in my ass. It's cute and everything, but I don't have time to take care of a dog, and Ted's in officer training so he's never there, so he's like --" Sulu picks up his PADD and reads from the screen in an unflattering imitation of Ted's obnoxious voice, "Hey, Hikaru, just wanted to remind you to be home by seven to let Randy out. Also, make sure you give him his heart worm pill because I think you forgot yesterday."  
  
Sulu looks at Chekov as if to ask him if he can believe this shit. Chekov presses his lips down around his grin and shakes his head as if to say no, he can't.   
  
"And, like, how passive-aggressive is that, right? 'I think you forgot.' He knows I did, why doesn't he just say it? And why is it my responsibility to take care of this animal that I didn't even want -- I don't know." Sulu puts the PADD down again and shakes his head. "It's just kind of stressing me out right now."   
  
Chekov is afraid to say anything, because his glee over Sulu's displeasure with Ted and Ted's dog will surely be transparent. Instead he just smiles down at his notes and continues reading off questions. Sulu sighs and sits back in his chair, his eyes on the floor, and Chekov wants to offer to rub his shoulders, but he's not brave enough to actually do it. He stumbles over the next three words from his notes, distracted by the thought of Sulu's eyes falling shut and his lips parting with a soft moan as Chekov massages him, making him forget the stupid dog.   
  
"You alright?" Sulu asks. Chekov clears his throat and nods.  
  
"Yes, sorry."   
  
"Hey," Sulu says when Chekov looks down at his notes again. Chekov pulls his eyes back up to Sulu's, and Sulu is really sitting too close to be looking him like that, as if Chekov has an eyelash on his cheek and Sulu is fighting the urge to brush it away.   
  
"Are you okay?" Sulu asks. "You seem kind of. I don't know. Intense, lately."   
  
"Intense?"  
  
"Maybe that's the wrong word --"  
  
"I'm fine, Hikaru," Chekov says tightly, not wanting to discuss the reason he's been miserable with Sulu, who is the reason.   
  
"I know you're, like, horrified at the thought that I might be concerned about you," Sulu says, sitting back with a scoff. "But it's actually just 'cause you're my friend, okay, not because I think you're a baby or something."   
  
"But you do think I am a baby," Chekov mutters, keeping his eyes on his notes.  
  
"Man, Pavel, what the hell? Fine, I do, you win. When you're twenty you get back to me on fifteen-year-olds seeming young to you."  
  
"I am sixteen next month," Chekov says.   
  
Sulu sighs and tips his head backward, drawing his hands through his hair. He would always do this when they studied together in their room, when he got overwhelmed by a problem set or when he just started to get tired. Chekov looks down at his notes, afraid he's become tiresome.   
  
"So what are you going to do for your birthday?" Sulu asks, whacking Chekov's shoulder with his pen to get his attention.   
  
"Nothing," Chekov says. He puts on a pathetic face so that Sulu will feel sorry for him. Sulu smirks as if he knows exactly what Chekov is doing.   
  
"Well, let me take you out then. We'll go -- I don't know. We'll do something fun."  
  
"But who will take care of the dog while you are out with me?" Chekov asks, grinning down at his hands. Sulu snorts and shoves him a little.   
  
"Fuck the dog," he says.  
  
"That is a cruel thing to say, Hikaru."  
  
"Yeah, well. I'm a cruel guy."  
  
Chekov is not sure he can disagree, since Sulu continues to torment him by being kind and leaning in close to look at Chekov's tiny handwriting on his notes. At moments, Chekov feels like he not only could but should press his face against the warmth of Sulu's neck and just crumble onto him, but then he remembers the New Year's Eve party and the way Sulu had laughed at the idea that Chekov might be in love with him. Sulu is really the cruelest person in the universe, to have such suspicions and still sit so close to Chekov, and to smell so good and talk so softly, asking Chekov if he accounted for the Rybald variant in that deep, low voice of his, as if he's really always asking him to _come here_.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

On Chekov's birthday, he wakes up to the sound of Vincent's night terrors at five in the morning and after calming Vincent back into a dead slumber he can't get back to sleep himself, so he dresses for a run and slips quietly out of the room. It's cold and dark outside, and Chekov enjoys the peacefulness of the empty campus as he sweats under his hooded shirt, his breath just barely visible in the air. He doesn't understand how some people run while listening to music. He likes to feel completely free and clear of all distractions when he runs, and has even fantasized about running naked. When he was very young he used to run barefoot.   
  
On the way back up to his room, the residents of the dormitory are showing signs of life; Chekov hears showers running and alarms blaring as he makes his way down the hall. Vincent is still asleep when Chekov enters, and he's glad to have the bathroom to himself. He takes a long, hot shower, and daydreams about Sulu showing up at the door and telling him that he's left Ted, that now that Chekov is sixteen he's no longer too young for Sulu's consideration. Chekov imagines Sulu offering to take his virginity as a kind of birthday present, and jacks his cock to the thought of Sulu biting his shoulder while he's buried in Chekov's ass. After he comes he leans against the shower wall, catching his breath and imagining the scene more thoroughly -- it would be at Sulu's apartment, Ted and the dog thrown out and every trace of them evaporated, and Sulu would -- what? Light candles? When it was over he would sob apologetically about the time he wasted with Ted and Chekov would pet his hair and forgive him. He would of course ask Chekov to move in with him, thereby saving him from Vincent's night terrors, and from the terror that is Vincent during the day. Chekov is in a ridiculously good mood as he climbs out of the shower, as if some part of him actually expects all of this to happen.  
  
When Sulu does show up around six o'clock Vincent is mercifully still in his cartography lab. Chekov grins and invites Sulu inside, appreciative of the fact that he's not wearing tight jeans and that he's carrying a little wrapped box that probably contains a new data file of music.   
  
"This place looks familiar," Sulu says, and he's joking, but he does look sincerely wistful as he stands in the middle of the room. He appraises Vincent's things distastefully before turning back to Chekov and handing him the little package.   
  
"Happy birthday," he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets like suddenly he wants to be all cool about it. Chekov beams and tears the package open. Inside, there's a data file with HIKARU'S SONGS FOR PAVEL PART III written across its surface in black marker.   
  
"I never know what else to get you," Sulu says, hands still in his pockets.   
  
"This is my favorite thing," Chekov says. As if Sulu's data files aren't always the only thing he receives for any special occasion.  
  
They walk across campus toward some restaurant where Sulu has made reservations, the sun setting and the temperature dropping with it. The campus is still crowded with students who are headed home for the day or to their nighttime labs, and Chekov is so proud to be walking with Sulu, especially now that he's sixteen years old and maybe doesn't look so obviously out of place. He's almost as tall as Sulu now, at least.   
  
"How is flight training going?" Chekov asks.   
  
"Pretty good," Sulu says, and Chekov can tell he's being modest, trying not to smile too widely. Chekov grabs Sulu's arm without thinking, and sort of hangs there, grinning up at him.  
  
"You're the best in the class," he says, and Sulu laughs, which is confirmation.   
  
"Only because you're not interested in flying," Sulu says.   
  
"No. You would be better than me, I think." It's true that Chekov has no interest in piloting spacecraft or anything else, really; he's more of a navigator than a pilot. He's not sure which is the more passive and which is the more aggressive role. The navigator issues directions, but the pilot makes the spur of the moment, instinctual decisions. He lets go of Sulu's arm and drifts away from him, still smiling.  
  
"Maybe I will be your navigator someday," he says.   
  
"God willing," Sulu says, grabbing Chekov's arm and pulling him back. "I wouldn't trust anyone else with the job."   
  
By the time they reach the restaurant the sun is mostly gone. It's a place on the ground floor of an office building, something Chekov has walked past while out in the city but never noticed before. The cuisine is Hawaiian and the décor is very nostalgic, with carved tiki-god lamps and drinks served in coconut shells, tropical plants growing out of every corner. The hostess leads them to a quiet table, and the whole restaurant is so dark, mostly candle-lit. Chekov would have been touched if Sulu made a reservation at a place that sells hamburgers at a counter, and this is more than he dared to hope for.   
  
"This place is hilarious," Sulu says. "A real relic."  
  
"Did you go to restaurants like this in Hawaii?" Chekov asks, unable to avoid thoughts of Sulu's trip there with Ted. Sulu shakes his head.   
  
"Everything there's all PC and fusion-y, now. This is like, what people wanted Hawaii to be like, you know, when it was just a honeymoon destination, it's something else entirely. And it's kind of sickly satisfying in a way," he says, grinning at Chekov across the table. Chekov nods eagerly, though he really has no idea what Sulu is talking about.   
  
They order their food and some drinks served in coconut shells, and Sulu tells the waitress that it's Chekov's birthday, which results in three multicolored leis being draped around him while the band that had been playing in the next room gathers around to serenade him with the happy birthday song set to ukulele. Chekov is fantastically humiliated by the whole thing, his face burning red by the time it's over, and Sulu is laughing mostly under his breath.   
  
"Do I have to keep wearing these?" Chekov asks when the band and waitress have departed. He takes hold of the leis, and Sulu laughs harder, leaning onto the table with his elbows.  
  
"Yes," he says. "My parents used to take me here for my birthday when I was a kid, and they always gave me this treatment. I thought you'd like it," he says, meaning that he thought Chekov would be appropriately embarrassed. Chekov kicks him under the table and Sulu volunteers to wear one of the leis.   
  
They eat dishes that come with old fashioned hot plates, actual fire burning underneath them, and drink round after round of rum-filled drinks with skewered fruit floating in them. The restaurant seems to grow darker as the hours pass, and Chekov feels like he and Sulu are floating on their own star in space, everything that has come between them in the past years long gone, far away.   
  
"What's it like to fly those jets?" Chekov asks when the plates have been cleared. Sulu smiles.  
  
"Not as good as docking shuttles in space. I did that for the first time last week."   
  
"Was it scary?" Chekov asks, and then he regrets the question; he can't seem to stop sounding childish around Sulu, he's always giving himself away.  
  
"It was fucking terrifying!" Sulu says, his whole face glowing with the opportunity to tell this story. "But amazing. Afterward, I don't know, I felt like I could bend steel bars with my bare hands. And in two weeks we're doing attack ships." He stares at Chekov with an expectant look in his eyes, as if he's waiting for Chekov to jump out of his seat in excitement at this news.   
  
"I have never been to space," Chekov says, though Sulu already knows this. Most people have at least been passengers on a shuttle bearing holiday takers by the time they're teenagers, but Chekov's aunt had absolutely no interest in visiting space, and he didn't have much either, as a child, considering that he already had vague notions that space had killed both his parents.   
  
"You'll go soon," Sulu says. "Maybe I'll fly you there for your next birthday." He smirks, because they both know this won't happen. Still, Chekov appreciates the sentiment. He sits back and allows himself to imagine sitting beside Sulu in a little shuttle and watching the stars soar past as Sulu's ship burns through the galaxy.   
  
"Thank you for taking me out," Chekov says as they're leaving the restaurant. It's colder outside than he expected, and he shivers as they walk back toward campus. He's become so delicate about cold after only two years of living in California.   
  
"Here," Sulu says. He pulls his leather jacket off and drapes it around Chekov's shoulders. "You're never dressed for the weather," he says.   
  
"Where I come from, people would be wearing t-shirts in these temperatures," Chekov says as he pushes his arms into the sleeves of Sulu's jacket.   
  
"So how come you're shivering?"  
  
"America has made me weak."   
  
Sulu snorts with laughter and slings an arm around Chekov's shoulders, then takes it away too quickly.   
  
"Do you need to go home and care for that dog?" Chekov asks, not sure if he's being vindictive or self-destructive. He's not very drunk, but he feels heavy and tired, ready to settle into his fantasies about Sulu if he's not going to be allowed to fall into a bed and settle against Sulu himself.   
  
"Nah, Ted's there," Sulu says. "C'mere. I'll take you someplace warm."  
  
They walk to the Astronomy lab, which is one of the oldest buildings on campus. Sulu's fondness for old things makes Chekov happy, though maybe it shouldn't, because he often feels like the youngest thing in Sulu's life. Sulu opens the building's front door with an access code that Chekov is surprised he has, and holds the door open for Chekov like a porter.  
  
"Are we allowed?" Chekov asks, peering into the dark building apprehensively. It has a certain musty, classroom smell that makes it feel extra off-limits at this hour.   
  
"Sure, I've got the code for after-hours research," Sulu says. He smirks. "My astronomy professor had a crush on me last semester and I guess they haven't updated their codes yet."  
  
"A crush?" Chekov says, following him inside. The building is indeed quite warm, the rush of the vents pumping heat audible in the quiet halls. "How could you tell that she had this?"  
  
"I don't know, I could just tell," Sulu says. He's walking ahead of Chekov down a hallway lit only by a few glowing red exit signs. When Chekov bumps into him, Sulu reaches back to take his arm.   
  
"Here we go," he says, pulling Chekov in a pitch dark room that seems as if it's quite large, based on the echo of their footsteps.  
  
"Hikaru?" Chekov says nervously when the door shuts behind them. He clutches more tightly at Sulu's arm, as if it's allowed here, where there's no light and where Sulu feels like the only solid thing in the world.   
  
"Just looking for the switch," Sulu says, and Chekov can hear his hand thumping clumsily along the wall. Chekov uses the opportunity to press himself closer to Sulu's side, and he reaches down until he finds Sulu's hand, which closes around his easily, as if it's no big deal. Maybe Chekov is more drunk than he thought, but as he breathes in the laundry smell of Sulu's shirt, he doesn't care how reckless he's being or why.  
  
"Here we go," Sulu says, and Chekov is sad when the switch Sulu flips brings up some soft lights across the ceiling. He drops Sulu's hand and steps away to look up at the planetarium stars as they slowly come into focus.  
  
"C'mere, we'll go to the middle," Sulu says. He takes Chekov's hand again, which makes him want to sob with gratitude and confusion. Sulu's hand is so warm, and his palm is softer than Chekov thought it would be, though he isn't really sure why he had any preconceived notions about Sulu's palms. When they reach the middle of the room Sulu lets go, and Chekov follows his lead as he sits on the floor and then lies back with a groan.  
  
"I ate too much," Sulu says, staring up at the ceiling. Chekov pulls his eyes from Sulu's face and looks up at the planetarium display. It's beautiful, and Chekov has seen it before, but it didn't look quite this lovely when he was seated in an auditorium desk and not stretched out on the floor beside Sulu, the skin on his palm still buzzing with the thrill of having been pressed against Sulu's for too short a time.   
  
"It's kind of like being in space," Sulu says, turning to grin at Chekov.   
  
"Thank you," Chekov says, and he's sliced up by the sudden fear that Sulu is still only doing what their resident advisor asked him to do on Chekov's first day in the dormitory. Maybe he's only taking care of the school's prize genius in exchange for being fast-tracked on the flight program. Maybe he's still glad whenever his Chekov duties are done, when he can go home to Ted and groan about how whiny the kid was today.  
  
"Do you ever think about it, working in space?" Sulu asks, his eyes still on the ceiling. He looks so serene, and Chekov could never make himself believe that he doesn't want to be here, his elbow just barely touching Chekov's on the cool linoleum floor.  
  
"I mean really working up there, for years at a time," Sulu says. He glances over at Chekov. "Not seeing your family and friends for years."   
  
"I don't really have anyone," Chekov says. He should tear his eyes from Sulu's but he can't make himself do it. "No one would miss me."   
  
"What about me?" Sulu asks, his voice small, as if he's hurt. "I'd miss you."  
  
Chekov grins as if Sulu is only joking and looks back up at the fake stars. Even if Sulu isn't only keeping him company on occasion because he has a duty to the Academy, Chekov knows Sulu won't miss him, not once his real life begins. He was so quick to move out of the dormitory and in with his boyfriend, and he's already impatient to fly. He'll forget Chekov's name after five years of adventure in space.  
  
"I don't have people like you do," Chekov says, pretending to be resigned to this. He shrugs and keeps a placid smile on his face.   
  
"You have me," Sulu says. Chekov is afraid to look at him. He stares up at Saturn and wonders what it would be like if Sulu really did love him after all. Somehow it's much more terrifying than the idea of Sulu only spending time with him out of obligation.   
  
"I don't have you, Hikaru," Chekov says. He laughs a little, trying to be a good sport. Sulu sits up on his elbow and frowns down at Chekov until he finally turns to look at him.  
  
"Yes, you do," Sulu says. "You do."   
  
"Well." Chekov lets out his breath, which is starting to stutter in his chest. "I would miss you if you left for space. Sometimes when I think of you flying there for class I don't like it."  
  
"Why not?" Sulu asks. He sinks back down to the floor, turning his head toward Chekov, who keeps his eyes on the stars.   
  
"I don't know. It makes me sad to think that you're not on Earth, even for a few hours."   
  
"See," Sulu says quietly. "That's what I mean."   
  
They lie there for almost an hour, talking about the classmates they hope to serve with someday and the ones they would hate to work beside in space. At one point Chekov actually turns toward Sulu and opens his mouth to say _Why can't it always be like this?_ , barely stopping himself in time to hold the words in.  
  
By the time they leave the Astronomy building they're both a little melancholy and quiet, and Chekov doesn't reach for Sulu's hand again, not even for his arm. Sulu walks with his hands in his pockets and Chekov can tell that he's cold.  
  
"Here," Chekov says, shrugging off Sulu's jacket. "Take this back, I'm not so cold anymore."  
  
"I'm fine," Sulu says, stepping away from the jacket as if it's poisoned. "You keep it."  
  
"Keep it?"  
  
"Yeah, I can replicate another one when I get home."  
  
"But you don't like replicated clothes."   
  
"It's fine, Pavel, don't worry about it."   
  
Chekov doesn't put the jacket back on, just holds it under his arm and keeps his eyes on the ground as they approach his dormitory. He thinks about what Sulu will do when he gets home. Pat the dog's head, get a beer from the fridge, go into the bedroom and kiss Ted. Ted will ask him how it went. Sulu will complain about something to make Ted feel better about not coming along. Or maybe he'll complain about something because he really didn't have a very good time.   
  
"You don't have to walk up with me," Chekov says when they get to the front door and Sulu makes like he's going to come inside. Sulu laughs at himself and shakes his head.   
  
"Sorry," he says. "Force of habit."  
  
He and Chekov stare at each other for a moment, and neither of them bothers with nervous laughter or insincere smiles. They can look at each other like this, nothing to say but the unspoken things, and it's not so uncomfortable anymore. Chekov isn't sure when that happened. Maybe just now, inside the planetarium.  
  
"So how does it feel to be sixteen?" Sulu asks.   
  
"Fine," Chekov says. It feels the same as fifteen, so far. Lonely. Too young. "Are you sure you don't want your jacket back?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure. You take it."  
  
"Thanks."   
  
Sulu shrugs and looks around like he's searching for his cue to leave. Then he just stands there anyway, hands in his pockets, staring at Chekov, who is starting to wonder if he should hug Sulu or something. Sulu looks like he's floundering, like suddenly he's the one who needs Chekov's help. For a moment Chekov allows himself to wonder if it's because Sulu feels the same way Chekov does, as if it's almost physically impossible for the two of them to willingly separate. But Sulu is the one who left in the first place.  
  
"Well, it was fun," Sulu says, walking backward for just a few steps. "Happy birthday."  
  
"Thank you, Hikaru."   
  
They look at each other one last time before Sulu turns to go. Chekov wonders if it's this way between other friends. Somehow he doesn't think so. He runs down the steps and catches Sulu's arm before he can get too far away. Sulu turns back looking vaguely terrified, and his mouth hangs open as Chekov drapes the jacket around his shoulders.  
  
"Take it, it's cold and you've got to walk home," Chekov says, and he hurries back to the dorm before Sulu can argue.   
  
*  
  
Chekov concentrates on his class work for the remainder of semester, and giving up on trying to figure out what is going on with Sulu is a relief. He listens to Sulu's music when he's lying on his back in bed, and imagines the two of them together in all kinds of situations, most often undressed and having outrageously good sex, Sulu moaning in amazement while Chekov makes him feel better than Ted ever did. As common as his happy fantasies about being with Sulu are his elaborate imaginings of Sulu's life with Ted as a miserable burden. Every time they're studying together and Sulu groans at a new message on his PADD Chekov is filled with boundless glee.   
  
Finally, on a pretty day in April when Chekov has opened the window beside his desk, allowing himself longing looks at the Golden Gate Bridge between problem sets, someone pounds on his door, and when he opens it he finds Sulu there, drunk at midday and holding a paper bag that contains a bottle of vodka. He grins at Chekov and Chekov laughs, because Sulu looks close to face-planting.   
  
"Hi," Chekov says, backing away so Sulu can enter. Vincent is away for the weekend; his parents are visiting the city -- his mother must have adequate vacation time even as a Klingon sex slave spy -- and Vincent is staying with them in their hotel room. Chekov is glad for this, even though Sulu keeps saying he wants to meet Chekov's nightmare roommate.   
  
"I broke up with Ted," Sulu announces, stumbling into the middle of the room. He takes a seat on Vincent's bed, as if it still belongs to him, and drinks from the bottle of vodka.   
  
"Why?" Chekov asks, sitting across from Sulu on his own bed. The information seeps in slowly, and he's not sure he can be happy about it, because if Sulu is upset about losing Ted then he might as well still be with him, for all the good it will do Chekov.  
  
"'Cause he's an asshole. You want some of this?" He hoists the bottle and Chekov gets a couple of plastic cups from the bathroom, because he has a feeling he's going to need a drink before this encounter is over. He pours some for each of them -- less for Sulu -- and sits down again.   
  
"Yeah, I don't know, I'm just, like, really messed up," Sulu says. He laughs darkly and stares into his cup of vodka. "Really, really."  
  
"Because of Ted?" Chekov asks. He swallows half his cup of vodka.   
  
"No." Sulu laughs again. "No, no, that was the not messed up part, or it was supposed to be."   
  
"Hikaru, what's wrong? Did you and Ted have a fight?"  
  
"Well, he threw me out, but it was my fault. I don't know how I'm going to get my stuff, he was pretty mad. I have been pretty fucking awful lately, but it's like I don't know how else to be anymore, Pavel, you know?"  
  
Chekov shrugs. He doesn't like seeing Sulu like this, out of control and overemotional, but he's so glad that Sulu came to him, of all people.   
  
"Did you miss your classes today?" Chekov asks.  
  
"Who cares," Sulu mutters. "It's Friday." That doesn't sound like him at all. Chekov wants to offer him some water, but he doesn't want to scare Sulu away by advising him to calm down and behave rationally.   
  
"Okay." Sulu knocks back the rest of the vodka in his cup and belches a little under his breath as he refills it. "Now that we're back here, in our room, I have to confess something to you."   
  
"Oh?" Chekov's heart is slamming. He doesn't want it to be like this, if this is the moment when Sulu decides he cares for Chekov after all. But he'll take what he can get. Sulu is fumbling in his pocket for his wallet, and when he gets it out he removes a worn, folded piece of paper from it. Chekov sits back, not opposed to hearing a long undelivered love letter.   
  
"I found this in one of your books back when I lived here," Sulu says, handing it to him. "I was looking up some principle, I don't know, but I found that, and I should have left it there, but I kept it."  
  
It's the drawing Chekov tried to do for Sulu for Christmas that first year. Sulu is holding a katana over his head and grimacing at alien attackers, who cower at the impressive sight of him. Chekov's cheeks turn pink, holding the evidence of his childish hero worship in his hands.   
  
"I drew this when I was fourteen," he says in his defense.   
  
"I fucking love that picture," Sulu says. He drinks again. "I look at it, like, all the time."   
  
"Why?" Chekov asks, laughing. The paper does look as if it's been folded and refolded many times, some of the ink at the center worn away.  
  
"Because you're the only person who sees me like that."   
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like I'm actually maybe going to be something."   
  
"You will be something, Hika--"  
  
"Hey, will you draw me another one? And I could do one of you, too, if you want."   
  
"Oh, Hikaru, I'm not very good--"  
  
"Sure you are, look at that! Here, we'll get some paper, it'll be fun."   
  
So they spend the rest of the waning afternoon at their separate desks -- Sulu at Vincent's, but Chekov still thinks of it as his -- drawing cartoons of each other and snickering at the results, hurrying to show each other every time a new one is done. Chekov draws Sulu piloting a jet, then a shuttle, then a hot air balloon, and then he does one of Sulu riding an elephant, by request. Sulu's drawings are more like stick figure sketches than Chekov's elaborately inked cartoons, and Chekov falls to the floor with wild laughter more than once at Sulu's attempts to draw him: climbing a mountain, eating ice cream, karate-chopping aliens, his hair an explosion of spirals. Chekov keeps refilling his little plastic cup, and by the time he's working on a sincere portrait of the two of them manning the console of a starship together, Sulu in the pilot's seat and Chekov navigating beside him, he's pretty drunk. When he finally finishes it he turns from his chair, excited to show it to Sulu, but Sulu's head is on the desk now, and he's snoring a little, drooling onto the drawing he'd been working on.  
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says, pulling him from the chair. Sulu groans, and he's much heavier than Chekov expected, but somehow Chekov manages to help Sulu stumble into Chekov's bed. Sulu hugs Chekov's pillow and sighs into his appreciatively, lying on his stomach with his legs splayed out comically behind him.   
  
"Get some rest," Chekov says softly. He sits beside Sulu and strokes his bangs from his forehead with shaking fingers. Sulu moans a little under his breath, and something shifts deep in Chekov's stomach, a painful knot of longing twisting up tighter. Chekov stands from the bed, but Sulu catches his wrist and pulls him back down.  
  
"You're always going somewhere," he mumbles, his eyes shut and his grip on Chekov's wrist loose. Chekov isn't even sure Sulu knows whom he's talking to, but he stays, stretching himself out on the bed beside Sulu, very careful not to touch any part of him but his hand. Sulu's fingers thread between Chekov's, and they both sigh, Chekov with anxious, wary hope, and Sulu with what sounds like contentment. Chekov stares at the ceiling and listens to the drone of silence in the room. He tells himself to calm down and doesn't dare to think this means anything. Sulu is drunk. He'll wake up regretful and wanting Ted, they'll get back together, and Sulu will ask Chekov to be his best man at their wedding. The dog will be the ring bearer. Everyone will laugh in delight as it slumps down the aisle with one of those stupid dog smiles on its face. Chekov will die alone as planned. This is nothing to get excited about.   
  
He shuts his eyes and is easily asleep, thanks to the vodka and the dull orange color of the bleeding sun at dusk, which always makes him feel cozy and tired. Sulu used to come home from his classes and nap for an hour before dinner, and Chekov would take a long bath while he waited for Sulu to wake and ask him if he was hungry yet. Chekov always said yes, even if he wasn't, and they would head out for dinner together, Sulu still yawning and Chekov still smelling of soap.   
  
When Chekov wakes up it's dark in the room, and he shifts in bed, surprised to find the warm shape of Sulu's body beside him. He has a moment of confused panic, thinking he's climbed into the wrong bed and that Sulu will wake horrified, but then he remembers that they don't live together anymore, and that Sulu is here because he's drunk and lonely and probably didn't have any place else to go. Chekov rolls toward him, tucking his hands under his cheek. Sulu blinks awake groggily and then winces, groaning.  
  
"Fuck," he says, his voice so thick and low that Chekov can feel it against his cock. "What time is it?"   
  
"I don't know." Chekov's voice is deep with exhaustion, too, his own head only buzzing slightly with a headache that can be cured with a few glasses of water. He imagines Sulu's condition must be far more severe, and pulls himself from the bed to get Sulu some water and a cold cloth. When he comes back Sulu is lying on his back with his hands pressed over his face as if he's in agony, and Chekov knows he shouldn't put on a light. He sits on the side of the bed and hands Sulu the water. Sulu drinks it as if it hurts to do so, then puts the cup on Chekov's bookshelves, falling back to the pillow with a groan.   
  
"God, I'm a fucking idiot," he mutters. His eyes are closed and his forehead is shining with sweat despite the fact that the room is cool, the window over Chekov's desk still open. He can hear traffic outside, and the cry of a distant sea gull. He dabs at Sulu's face with the wet cloth, not sure what to do now except try to take care of him. His own hangover is just strong enough to prevent him from really thinking straight, and when Sulu's arm slides around Chekov's waist, the last of his rational brain goes into hibernation mode.   
  
"You're not an idiot," Chekov says, keeping his voice soft as he dabs the cloth across Sulu's forehead.   
  
"I am." Sulu's eyes are still closed. "Look at me."   
  
"You look fine," Chekov says. Sulu's fingers sneak under the hem of Chekov's shirt, and he rubs softly over the bare skin at the small of Chekov's back, casually possessive. Chekov lets out his breath in quiet rush. It's like Sulu has finally pressed a button that his finger has been hovering over for a year and a half. Chekov can't wait any longer.  
  
He leans down slowly, not wanting to disturb the half-asleep peace of the moment. With the damp cloth anchored against Sulu's left cheek, he very softly kisses Sulu's right cheek. Sulu goes completely still, as if he's holding his breath, but he doesn't push Chekov away. Testing his boundaries, his heart thundering between his ears, Chekov kisses the side of Sulu's nose, his left temple, then his right eyelid, which is fluttering with the effort of staying shut. He's moving down to kiss Sulu's lips when Sulu sucks in his breath and sits up as if he's been stabbed. Chekov sits up with him, startled, and Sulu grabs both of Chekov's arms, too hard.  
  
"Stop," he says, his eyes wide. "Stop it, Pavel."   
  
The sob that wrenches from Chekov came out of nowhere; he can't believe he's already this upset.  
  
"Please, Hikaru," he says, limp in Sulu's grip. "Please, I love you so much."  
  
That was the last thing he meant to say, now or ever, especially with his voice cracking against the words. Sulu's face softens until Chekov wants to apologize for hurting him with this admission.   
  
"I can't," Sulu says. He sounds so pained, so absolutely destroyed by what Chekov has done, that Chekov is ready to consent to never touching him again. But it's Sulu who grabs Chekov's face and tips it up to meet his hungry kiss, his breath harsh and his tongue hot as he licks Chekov's trembling lips apart. Chekov tries to keep up, holding Sulu's wrists as if to brace himself, but he must not do very well, because Sulu breaks away panting and looking devastated.   
  
"Oh, fuck, fuck," he cries, and he really is _crying_ , maybe still a little or a lot drunk. "I can't -- you're too -- I've got to go."  
  
"No, Hikaru, don't go, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have --" Chekov scrambles to grab onto Sulu and stop him from leaving somehow, but for the first time ever Sulu is faster than Chekov, and he's already opening the door, Chekov stumbling clumsily after him.   
  
"Please!" Chekov says, his whole chest quaking in a way that he doesn't think he'll survive. "Please, Hikaru, just stay, I'll do anything you want!"  
  
"Don't tell me that!" Sulu shouts, making his way down the hall without looking back. Someone opens a door and Chekov hurries back to his room to shut himself inside, embarrassed by his wet face and heaving chest. He can't really see straight for a few seconds, and he waits for this to be revealed to him as only a horrible dream, but those drawings that he and Sulu made earlier are scattered everywhere, some of them having been blown onto the floor by the breeze from the window. Chekov storms across the room with a pathetic growl of fury for this thing he can't stop wanting, and he's going to rip all the drawings to shreds, but when he crumples two handfuls of paper into his hands he can't do it, he can't destroy them, so he only brings them to his face and cries onto them, as if they will comfort him somehow.  
  
*  
Sulu stops showing up for Chekov's Advanced Subspace Geometry class, and Chekov learns through eavesdropping on Sulu's friends that he got some kind of special permission to take the exam early.   
  
"He aced it, of course," one of Sulu's friends says, scoffing. "Fucking Hikaru. We're all going to be calling him Captain in ten years."   
  
"More like five," another guy says. Far past cynical at this point, Chekov wonders if both of these men are in love with Sulu, if he's kissed them, fucked them, broken their hearts. He's resolved to find someone else to take his virginity so that he can stop torturing himself over Sulu. It doesn't matter who. Since the incident with Sulu in the dorm room, Chekov is always on the lookout for someone who might wipe his mind clear of Sulu, at least physically, at least for a few minutes.   
  
He sees Sulu walking across campus one afternoon just before finals, and watches as Sulu notices him and quickly diverts to an alternate route, not looking back. Chekov doesn't even have the energy to try to hate Sulu anymore, or to wonder if he's gone back to Ted and the dog. He just feels hollow, and wishes he could stop having nightmares about finding out that Sulu died in space and not being allowed to attend the funeral because he's too young to be exposed to anything so grim.   
  
Summer semester starts, and Vincent leaves to spend the summer with his family. According to Vincent, he's been invited to participate on a top secret mission with his mother, something involving a horde of Romulan treasure that he can't say much about. Chekov pretends to believe him even more listlessly than usual, glad to be alone because it's too humiliating to feel the way he does in front of an audience. Without Vincent around to pester him, he can spend his days drinking and staring out the window in silence. He doesn't listen to Sulu's music and he doesn't look at the stack of drawings they both made, which he's put in a locked drawer, noting that Sulu left behind the one he claimed to love so much, the original. He's done with all of it. He just wants to get fucked by somebody so he can stop obsessing over it and masturbating with a frequency that worries him.   
  
It's not as hard to find someone who is willing to sleep with him than he expected. His name is Carter and he is, incidentally, also the guy who regularly obtains bad replicated liquor for Chekov, who won't be allowed to drink legally for two more years. Carter has very sharp blue eyes, like a husky, and always seems to have a five o'clock shadow, no more or less no matter what time of day it is. He calls Chekov 'dude' and sometimes offers him pot, another substance Chekov won't be allowed to consume legally for two years. On the day when Chekov finally accepts, Carter comes to Chekov's room to show him how to smoke it.  
  
"This is the good stuff, not replicated," Carter says as he rolls joints on Chekov's desk. The sight makes Chekov kind of heart sick, and he thinks of what his aunt would say if she could see him now. Just like your mother, determined to destroy yourself because things didn't go your way. Well, no, his aunt would never be that harsh, but Chekov has become far more critical of himself than she ever managed.   
  
Carter gets high and Chekov mostly coughs. They don't talk much, but Chekov can see by the way Carter looks at him that he's interested, that he likes Chekov's nervous smallness and wants to fuck him while he trembles helplessly. That's what Chekov wants, too, so he crawls into Carter's lap and kisses him, and Carter doesn't push him away or start babbling vague excuses having to do with his morals. He moans into Chekov's mouth and grabs his ass, squeezing it with both hands.   
  
"Yeah," Carter breathes out, his eyelids heavy and his mouth quirked into its constant half-smile. "You're so fuckin' cute. You know how many guys on this hall talk about how they want to fuck you? It's like, kind of a joke we all have." He laughs a little, and Chekov tries not to let this information close around his heart like tar. He smiles, telling himself he should be flattered.   
  
"God, you get me hard," Carter says, thrusting his erection up against Chekov's thigh in demonstration. "You a virgin?" he asks, his eyes going dark with the question. Chekov nods, too nervous to lie. He's already shaking, wondering when this will get good.   
  
"Fuck," Carter moans, and he kisses Chekov again, hard. Chekov wants to apologize when their teeth knock together, but he loses his breath and his voice when Carter tosses him onto his back and grabs Chekov's dick through the crotch of his jeans. Chekov yelps stupidly, but he's starting to panic a little and doesn't care how humiliating his exclamations are. He spreads his legs and tries to enjoy it as Carter massages him to hardness, but he's too terrified to appreciate it. He feels like he's strapped himself on a roller coaster and he's watching the station disappear as the cars pull away, hopelessly committed to whatever comes next.   
  
"Bet you've never even sucked cock," Carter says, his mouth hovering over Chekov's, which is open, his breath shaking out of him in painful waves.   
  
"No," Chekov says weakly, not sure if he's answering the question or voicing the second thoughts that at the moment are the only thoughts he's having, blaring through his mind like alarms.   
  
"Mmm, you're gonna like it," Carter says. He grins and licks over Chekov's lips. "Sweet little mouth like that, you're a born cocksucker, aren't ya?" He squeezes Chekov's dick hard and laughs when Chekov flinches.  
  
"Wait," Chekov says, trying to sit up on his elbows, but his body isn't working properly and he just flops back down.   
  
"It's cool, I can suck you first, show you how it's done." Carter is unbuttoning Chekov's fly now, and Chekov is shaking his head, inching away from him as best he can.   
  
"Wait," he says again. "Wait, I don't think --"  
  
"What's wrong? Here, let me give you a back rub, it'll calm you down, poor little virgin boy, I'm not gonna hurt ya --"   
  
"No, please," Chekov's eyes are burning and he'd really like to get rid of Carter before he actually bursts into tears, not that he has much chance of saving any face at all at this point. "I'm sorry, I can't, please, can you go?"  
  
Carter looks at Chekov like suddenly he has no idea who he is. He's sitting up on his knees, his hardon a tangible threat through his pants, and he narrows his eyes at Chekov, scoffing with disgust.  
  
"What the fuck?" he says. "Are you serious? You climb into my fucking lap and get me hard and now you're like, what?" He scoffs again, and leans toward Chekov, who is almost hyperventilating with the effort to keep himself from crying. Chekov makes a choked noise of surprise when Carter slaps his cheek, sharp and quick, glaring at him as if he's a child who needs a scolding.   
  
"Not cool," Carter says, and he climbs off of the bed. He's headed for the door, and Chekov knows he should just be glad he's going, because Carter is bigger and stronger than him and God knows Chekov wouldn't have had the courage to scream for help if he needed to, but something about the way Carter slapped Chekov's cheek propels him off the bed, and before he can stop himself he's grabbed Carter's shoulder and wheeled him around to punch him hard in the face.   
  
"Fucking son of a bitch!" Chekov hisses in Russian, pushing Carter over before he can recover. He hits him again and again, panting with fury, practically foaming at the mouth when he thinks about the smug way Carter scolded him and the way he'd slapped him like a man would hit a child, like a warning. When Carter's shock dissolves he growls with fury of his own and basically throws Chekov across the room, then stands and yanks him up to punch him just once, hard enough to knock Chekov back into the wall.  
  
"Jesus, you fucking psycho!" Carter shouts before he slams out of the room. Chekov is on all fours, breathing hard and trying to recover, planning to chase after Carter and kill him, but ultimately he just flops down to the ground, lying on his stomach with his face pressed against the cold floor. He forces his breathing steady and shuts his eyes. His left eye, where Carter hit him, is throbbing and sore, and he knows he'll have a terrible bruise. He gets up after a few minutes, his limbs still shaking. Somehow that fist fight was what he thought he would get from a fuck, exactly what he needed. He throws the remaining pot and the horrible replicated vodka Carter brought him a few days ago into the disintegrator and sits on the bed. His blood is still pumping at his temples and his adrenaline is rushing through him like a second heartbeat. He wants to fight someone else, wants to fight everyone in the dormitory until he's knocked out cold, but instead he puts on his sneakers and goes for a run.  
  
He runs a lot that summer, and becomes obsessed with his navigation course, telling himself it has nothing to do with Sulu. He doesn't see much of Sulu around campus, and when he does pass him in the hall one afternoon between classes, he pretends not to notice him, because he thinks that's what Sulu must want. He's almost around a corner before Sulu runs back and grabs his arm, frowning at Chekov.   
  
"What happened to your eye?" Sulu asks. He looks like he's angry with Chekov about the black eye, not with whoever put it there. Chekov yanks his arm from Sulu's grip.   
  
"Nothing," Chekov mutters. He walks away, but Sulu follows him, and turns him around again to have another look.   
  
"Who did this to you?" he asks, his hand curling tight around Chekov's bicep, as if he won't let him get away again. Chekov scoffs.  
  
"What do you care?" he asks. "Anyway, I hit him first."   
  
"You – what the hell's wrong with you? Pete told me that every time he sees you in the dorms you're drunk as fuck."  
  
"That was before," Chekov says, scowling. He wants to pull away, but some secret part of him is shoveling Sulu's concern into its mouth, knowing this is the only nourishment it will have for months.  
  
"Before what?" Sulu shakes his head, as if Chekov is the one who betrayed him, not the other way around. "Jesus, what's going on, if it's—"  
  
"Just leave me alone, Hikaru," Chekov says. He yanks away and walks off without looking back, the part of him that will always be hungry for Sulu screaming in agony at the loss.   
  
He aces his summer finals and the fall semester begins. Vincent moves back into the dorm room, and Chekov is strangely glad for the company, but that only lasts a week or so, and then he's back to mostly wanting to kill Vincent again.   
  
"What do you think you'll be?" Vincent asks Chekov one night when Chekov is trying to study for a stellar cartography exam. "A Captain? Or – something lesser?"  
  
"Lesser," Chekov says. "Obviously."   
  
"Obviously? I thought you were supposed to be a genius, too."  
  
"Well, I'm not. I lied on my application."   
  
"Ha ha. Hey, Ruskie, you're the darkest guy I've ever met."   
  
"Thanks. You're the worst liar I've ever met, by the way."  
  
"Fuck you, Pavel!"  
  
He and Vincent are kind of friends after that. Vincent is clearly pining after the TA in his xenolinguistics class, a girl named Uhura. He talks about her constantly, and Chekov doesn't call him on it, just sympathizes. He sees Sulu sometimes, but it's rare enough to only be an annoying reminder of his self destructive period. He's not sure what to call his post-self-destructive period. His "merely surviving" period? He goes to bed at nine o'clock and spends most of his free time running. Vincent, who never exercises in any way and who is rapidly getting fat, asks him why he bothers.   
  
"It makes me feel better," Chekov says.  
  
"Why?" Vincent asks, scowling. "I mean. It's pointless. You just run. It's not like you're trying to get somewhere. It's not like you're a professional athlete."  
  
"I don't have to think," Chekov says. "When I run, I just run, like you say. Even if I try to think, it's like suddenly I'm an idiot, because I am so tired, I don't have a real thought process. You see?"  
  
Vincent nods slowly. "Yeah," he says. "It's a self-hating thing."  
  
"Ah, God," Chekov moans, waving his hand at Vincent dismissively.   
  
"No, I get it," Vincent says. "You're resentful of your intelligence. This is more common among artists than scientists, but not unheard of."   
  
"Yeah, okay," Chekov mutters. "I hate myself." He rolls his eyes. "Just because I like to not always think about everything so much."  
  
"You should see someone about that," Vincent says. "It's not normal."   
  
Chekov knows he's not normal. He's always known this; the children he went to school with never let him forget it. He was naïve enough, for a long time, to believe that despite this disadvantage, he'd be able to find some other not normal person who would finally be on his side. When he met Sulu, his fantasies about companionship changed, and he wanted not only long conversations about not normal concerns but someone to stroke and cherish him while they talked about temporal anomalies. He's lost the hope for that, and most days he's glad, because it caused him more harm than good.   
  
In mid-November, Sulu shows up at Chekov's door, and he's proud of himself, because he doesn't swoon or hope, he just stares, glad to have the chance to prove his new indifference. Sulu looks sad, and Chekov is so tired of being such an obvious disappointment for Sulu, so tired of seeing it clearly on his face.  
  
"Your eye looks better," Sulu says, kind of sheepish and quiet. Chekov shrugs.  
  
"It has been better for some time."  
  
"Yeah. Well. I haven't been around much. I'm in the space-integrated program this semester. Been spending a lot of time up there."  
  
Chekov shrugs again. He wishes that Sulu's eyes didn't cut into him, and works on feeling angry about the fact that they still do.   
  
"Anyway." Sulu clears his throat and looks down at Chekov's feet for a few seconds. "Um, I'm not going to be here for Christmas. I'm on assignment for class, you know. So."  
  
"I will survive the holiday without your generosity, Hikaru," Chekov says, proud of his coldness even as it freezes his insides, making him ache to get warm.  
  
"I know that," Sulu says. He glares at Chekov for a few seconds before his face softens again. "Here." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a data file, which he smacks into Chekov's hand. "Your songs," he says, and it's so cruel, even now, the way he holds Chekov's gaze like has more to say.   
  
"Thank you," Chekov says without thinking. Sulu shrugs.   
  
"I was the worst thing for you," he says, so soft that Chekov can barely pick out the words. "And still. I can't." He shakes his head. "Anyway. I'll – see you later."  
  
He hurries down the hall like Chekov is firing phaser blasts at his back, and Chekov stands in the doorway of his room, the data file Sulu gave him heavy as a boulder in his palm. He waits to listen to it, doesn't put it into his PADD media player until a week later, when he imagines that Sulu is already in space. He likes the first song, "The Killing Moon," and several in the middle, but he isn't really struck down with longing until he listens to the final song on the data file. He falls into it as soon as he hears the first chords, before the lyrics even start, but it's the desperation in the voice of the singer that pulls him down like a rip tide. _I wish I'd shut you up inside my head_. Somehow, Chekov knows how that feels, and he thinks of Sulu choosing this song for him, and what it might mean. _I wish I'd lock you up inside my heart_. The last song on Sulu's mixes is usually the most sincere, the saddest, the most heartfelt. _Who doesn't love the sound of a breaking heart?_ Chekov listens to the song probably ten times in a row, barely noticing when Vincent returns to the room. He rolls toward the wall, thinking of Sulu in the pilot's chair of some impressive attack craft, far away from songs like this, a soldier with his cold eyes on space. He must never think of Chekov. Chekov almost hopes that he doesn't. Almost.   
  
Christmas comes and goes. Chekov sends a letter to his aunt and doesn't get a response until after the New Year. He does well in his classes and wonders why he bothers. It's dangerous to question the usefulness of reality, he's smart enough to know that, but he does it anyway, and he dreams of Sulu in space, dreams that he's all alone in a tiny research station, drawing pictures of Chekov to keep himself sane. He turns seventeen in February and nobody notices.  
  
Toward the end of the semester there's an annual marathon, and Chekov has always thought about entering. At seventeen, he feels like he has nothing more to be afraid of. He's surpassed humiliation; he passes Carter in the halls of the dormitory without so much as a hunch of his shoulders. He trains for the marathon because there's nothing else to do with his free time, and when he wins it he thinks the people who fall on him at the finish line to congratulate him are joking until he sees Hikaru Sulu suddenly cutting through the crowd, grinning and laughing like he wants to take partial credit.   
  
"How did you know?" Chekov asks, his voice lost in the excitement of the cheers that are more for the second and third place finishers than for him, because he hasn't brought a massive entourage of admirers along like they have. He lets Sulu close him into his arms without an answer, because he knows how Sulu must have found out that Chekov was a competitor; the Starfleet Academy Examiner did an article about him, the youngest competitor to enter the marathon. Now he's the youngest winner, and he squeezes Sulu's shoulders without shame, as if they're temporarily in a consequence-free dimension.   
  
"Sorry I'm so sweaty," Chekov says, his mouth close to Sulu's ear.  
  
"It's okay," Sulu says, and Chekov finally believes that this is actually happening when he hears Sulu's voice, which he's never been able to properly replicate in dreams of any sort. He laughs, and Sulu does, too, their chests shaking together like the nervous breasts of birds. When Chekov pulls back Sulu keeps hold of his shoulders, and he gazes at Chekov like he's proud, like he has any right to be proud. Chekov doesn't hold it against him.   
  
"Where've you been?" Chekov asks, still breathless and floating on his victory, which really meant nothing until he realized that Sulu was here to witness it.   
  
"In space," Sulu says, and Chekov laughs, because he knew that. Suddenly someone is pulling at his arm, and, stupidly, he lets himself be pulled.   
  
"Mr. Chekov!" It's a reporter for the Academy Examiner, beaming and throwing a data recorder in his face. "How does it feel to be the youngest person to win the Starfleet Academy Marathon?"  
  
"Um." Chekov looks at Sulu, who is backing away, smiling. "Good, I guess?"  
  
"English is not his first language," someone mutters. Chekov looks for Sulu, but he's already slipped away, lost in the crowd that is gathering around Chekov. Someone drapes a medal around Chekov's neck, and he thinks of his sixteenth birthday, those leis. He stands on tiptoes to try to find Sulu, but he's gone.  
  
"What was your inspiration for running in this marathon, Ensign?" someone shouts in Chekov's ear, maybe the reporter or just some crazy asshole who has run over to participate in the aftermath. It's the first time he's been called Ensign out loud.   
  
"Um." Chekov looks for Sulu again, and it's already as if he was never here. Maybe Chekov imagined the whole thing, his brain so short of oxygen that he hallucinated Sulu at the end of the race. It makes more sense than actually seeing him waiting at the finish line.  
  
"I just like to run," Chekov says, and someone takes a picture.   
  
He's not sure what the real answer is. At some point, running became the only thing that made him feel like he had control over anything, but he doesn't know how to say that out loud, not in Russian and certainly not in English.


	4. Chapter 4

The remainder of the spring semester passes and summer begins. Chekov is only taking two classes, both of them military training courses rather than the academic courses that require hours of study, and he has too much time on his hands. He wanders the city and continues to avoid the Golden Gate Bridge, for reasons he doesn't understand. He stops eating from replicators and goes to the restaurants that Sulu once took him to, but they seem dingy and hollow without Sulu, the lighting all wrong. He runs and goes to arcades with Vincent, studies and avoids the advances of his academic advisor, who seems to have a crush on him. Vincent accuses him of being asexual.   
  
"You're a good looking guy," Vincent says. "Take advantage of it, for Christ's sake!"  
  
Chekov only grunts with disinterest. Part of him wants to tell Vincent all about Sulu, but there is only one person Chekov has ever known with whom he would feel comfortable trusting that story, and it's Sulu himself.   
  
He still thinks about Sulu, but not all the time, and the pain of the whole thing is much less sharp and close than it once was. When he listens to Sulu's music he mostly just feels full of pity for the boy he used to be, too vulnerable to someone like Sulu, who had offered just enough of himself to make Chekov think, as often as he told himself not to, that he could have all of Sulu someday. The only song that still rips his heart out is that last song from the last mix Sulu gave him. _Wish I'd shut you up inside my head, where no one else can get to us - two roaring I's, a standstill of a faith_. He understands enough, in retrospect, to know that some part of Sulu did want him, and that he hated himself for it. Whatever he wanted from Chekov, it wasn't enough to make him give up anything to have him. Now Sulu is off in space and Chekov is still too young, and ultimately it all came to nothing. Chekov feels like this last song is the only concrete thing Sulu left behind for him, more real to him now than anything they actually went through together.  
  
In the fall, he registers for what will be his second to last semester at the Academy, most of his courses comprising training drills and navigation simulations. He goes to space for the first time, and thinks of Sulu while his professors congratulate him for not getting sick when the shuttle breaks the atmosphere. After this semester, he'll turn eighteen, then graduate and be consigned to Starfleet. He knows now that he wants to navigate on a major starship, and his professors tell him he has a talent for it. He writes to his aunt and tells her of his plans, and she writes back asking him why he doesn't want to be a Captain.   
  
_There is no one at that school smarter than you_ , she writes. _You sell yourself short, Pavel, you always have_.   
  
Chekov isn't sure why he's not interested in being a Captain. He doesn't think intelligence is all that's required; there's something else needed, something he knows he doesn't have, though he couldn't find a word for it. When he's bored between classes he lies on the grass in the quad and watches the burn of the training rockets reentering the atmosphere. He'll always think of Sulu when he looks at the sky, and this makes him feel cheated, because he's beginning to allow himself to believe that someday he will love someone else, but Sulu will always have the sky.  
  
In December, in the midst of final exams, a campus-wide announcement pops onto Chekov's PADD while he's in the library, surrounded by a wall of books. He reads it with relative disinterest, as official Academy messages usually have to do with petty changes in school regulations, but as he's reading a voice comes on over the library's intercom, announcing the same words that are on Chekov's PADD screen:   
  
"Attention. All cadets are to report to the main hangar for immediate departure. Attention. All cadets are to report to the main hangar for immediate departure. Please see your advisors for ship assignments."  
  
Stunned, Chekov begins to gather up his books to put them away, then realizes he doesn't have time for that. There must have been some kind of emergency; it's very rare that cadets are deployed to space, but the fleet has been occupied in the Laurentian system for some time, and as far as Chekov knows, they're not expected back any time soon. He runs all the way to the hangar, his heart pounding, and attempts to straighten his hair when he gets there. The atmosphere is one of excitement and confusion, cadets checking in with their advisors to find out which ships they've been assigned to, everybody gossiping about the emergency, slapping hands with friends when they find out they've been assigned together and hugging others goodbye. Chekov is so overwhelmed by the scene that he almost misses his name when it's read from his advisor's PADD.   
  
"Pavel Chekov?" he shouts again, and Chekov raises his hand.   
  
"Here, sir!"  
  
"You're on the _Enterprise_ , kiddo. You'll be on the command bridge. Report to Captain Pike." His advisor winks and Chekov stumbles away, stunned. The _Enterprise_ is the newest ship in the fleet. He's already passed ten cadets who were bursting with excitement after finding out they were assigned to it. Chekov knows enough about the reputation of Captain Pike to understand that he's gotten the best assignment possible, no doubt in part to his advisor's attentions. He climbs aboard the shuttle that is bound for the _Enterprise_ and tries not to let the surprised looks he gets as he straps himself into a seat disturb him. He imagines that every whispered conversation is about him, his fellow cadets worrying that their lives will be in the hands of a seventeen-year-old. But surely they won't actually give him any responsibility on the bridge.   
  
As the shuttle soars out of the hangar, headed for space, Chekov is the only one with his forehead pressed to the window. The others are talking with quiet, nervous excitement. Chekov recognizes a few faces on board: Professor Spock, whose classes he's always enjoyed, and Nyota Uhura, the TA Vincent is in love with. Everyone looks different already, in space, under duress.   
  
By the time the shuttle docks, Chekov's stomach is aching terribly with nerves. He's afraid he'll say the wrong thing to Captain Pike, or forget all his physics as soon as he sits down at his console. Will they even allow him a seat at a console? Or will he be expected to stand in the background and take notes while the other cadets do the real work? Suddenly he has a hard time envisioning himself as a peer of the people around him, who seem so much more serious and capable than they did on Earth, when they joked with each other in class and asked to borrow Chekov's notes. He didn't even feel this young on his first day on campus.   
  
He boards the _Enterprise_ with the others and follows Professor Spock and Uhura to the bridge. Neither of them addresses him, and Chekov tries to listen in on their conversation about the distress call from Vulcan that prompted this emergency deployment of the cadets. His vision has tunneled somewhat, so when he gets to the bridge he can't really take it in properly. He stands nervously behind Spock and Uhura as they speak to Captain Pike. When Spock turns from Pike he almost crashes into Chekov, who was hovering too close.   
  
"Ensign Chekov," Spock says as Uhura heads away to her post. "Good. Come with me."   
  
Spock leads Chekov down to the front of the bridge, and Chekov's heart is pounding as if he's been led on stage, an audience of thousands sitting in the place where the view screen is. Spock gestures to a chair and Chekov sits in it without thinking. It's the navigator's seat; this comes to him slowly. He glances over at the pilot's chair, which is empty.   
  
"I take it you are familiar with this equipment from your instruction?"  
  
"Yes, Professor," Chekov says, though everything looks quite different now, without his classmates taking notes and making mistakes while professors correct them. Everything is happening much too fast, but the last thing Chekov wants is to let anyone see that he's overwhelmed.   
  
"On board this ship you should address me as Commander, not Professor, Ensign," Spock says, and Chekov winces at his misstep.   
  
"Yes, sorry, thank you, Commander."   
  
Spock is quickly gone, off to speak to Pike, and Chekov is left wondering if he should introduce himself to the Captain. He brings his shaky fingers to the keys on his console, stroking over them softly as if to introduce himself to them. When someone touches his shoulder he knows, even before it makes any sense or strikes him as having anything to do with reality, that it's Sulu.  
  
"Hikaru!" he says, standing, and he barely stops himself from throwing his arms around Sulu's shoulders. Sulu doesn't look quite as happy to see him.   
  
"What are you -- are you posted here?" Sulu asks. Chekov feels like he did when he met Sulu in their dorm, forced to explain his ridiculous existence.   
  
"Yes, I am to navigate," Chekov says. "Are you --?" Chekov glances at the empty pilot's seat.   
  
"Yeah, I just got pulled from the _Farragut_ , somebody was sick -- Pavel." He grins. "Are you, like. Ready for this?"  
  
"I am as ready as you are, Hikaru," Chekov says. He scowls and sits back in his seat.   
  
"Hey, hey." Sulu sits in his chair and drags it closer to Chekov's. "Don't get all offended. You're just. You're like this whole other part of my life and now here you are, in space." Chekov sniffs with annoyance. He wasn't aware he was still a part of Sulu's life.   
  
"Once you said that you would like me to navigate for you." Chekov keeps his eyes on his data screen, pretending to read the numbers that are scrolling across the bottom, which are essentially space traffic reports.   
  
"I did say that, and I meant it." Sulu touches Chekov's shoulder again. Chekov tries not to analyze the quick squeeze Sulu gives him before taking his hand away. "Jesus, look at you. Look at us."   
  
Chekov glances over at Sulu and allows himself to fully take him in. They're wearing the same yellow shirt. They're peers, here, at last.   
  
"I should have known you'd be assigned to the _Enterprise_ ," Sulu says, sighing as he shifts his chair back over to his own data screen. "I'm kinda surprised that I was even the understudy for the pilot."   
  
"Don't be modest, Hikaru," Chekov mutters, and Sulu laughs.  
  
Later, when Sulu forgets to disengage the external inertial dampener before warp, Chekov almost dies of empathetic embarrassment himself. He wants to drape himself around Sulu's shoulders and tell him that it happens to everyone, and it's not a big deal. The pink across Sulu's cheeks just destroys him, and he hates that he has to deal with this Sulu-related anxiety _now_ , during what might prove to be the most important moments of his career.   
  
Chekov's first task is describing the emergency situation to the crew via the comm system. He hates his accent more than he ever has, and when he's finally done he looks over at Sulu, who smiles at him, his cheeks still pink.   
  
"Did I sound ridiculous?" Chekov asks.  
  
"No, Pavel, you're doing fine. Much better than me so far."  
  
"Neither of us has done anything yet," Chekov says. He's beginning to sweat. Part of him is still rebelling against the idea that any of this is actually happening, milestones whizzing by without any time for him to contemplate their weight, not the least of which is the return of Sulu to his life.   
  
Then things start happening a hell of a lot faster. Chekov doesn't really register the actual danger of the situation, not even when Nero informs Pike that the rest of the fleet has been destroyed. It doesn't hit him until Sulu tells the Captain he has combat experience and is suddenly out of his seat, headed for the lift with only a quick apologetic look back at Chekov as he goes. Chekov starts to stand as if to follow him, but of course he can't. He falls back into his seat and listens to the lift doors open and close behind him, taking Sulu away. He's going to sky dive to the drill Nero is using on Vulcan. He's only got two other men with him, that loud-mouthed Kirk and some idiot engineer named Olson. Chekov hides his shaking hands under the console, gripping his knees. His brings up the life monitors of the three men who are headed for the drill on his data screen. All three have elevated heart rates, and Chekov is proud of Sulu for not having the highest rate; that belongs to Olson. Kirk's is almost worryingly average.  
  
Olson is dead within seconds. Chekov is the one who needlessly announces it to the bridge. He watches the screen that represents Sulu's life in disbelief. In another second, Sulu could be dead, too. If not in a second, then in a minute, when he lands on the drill. What in the hell does Sulu think he has in the way of combat training? Fencing? Chekov hates him for this, for making Chekov watch him die. It's so like him, really. It's all been leading up to this, the big, final act that will completely crush what was left of Chekov's heart.   
  
The time that Kirk and Sulu spend on the drill passes in a blur; it feels both excruciatingly long and too short, because suddenly Sulu's distance from the planet's surface is decreasing rapidly as the blip on the screen that represents him streaks away from the drill. He's falling toward the planet, and suddenly so is Kirk. For a long moment there is silence on the bridge, then Kirk is screaming over his comm to beam them up, _now, now, now_.   
  
Later, people will tell Chekov that he was talking to himself all the way to the transporter room, shouting the same words over and over again, but he doesn't remember saying anything. He doesn't remember shoving aside the woman who was manning the desk, someone who will give him dirty looks forever after. All he'll remember is the moment when he finally locks on to Sulu and Kirk, and how he's sure that it was too late.  
  
People start cheering, and Chekov is so disoriented that he literally falls into the chair of the woman he pushed away. A lot of people pat his shoulder, and when he looks up he realizes that Kirk and Sulu have been on the platform for maybe ten seconds already, out of breath and helping each other to stand. Chekov has a hard time standing himself. Kirk jogs past him, headed for the bridge, and then Sulu is there, his hair blasted back by the wind in a way that would be very funny if Chekov could remember how to laugh.   
  
"I heard your voice," Sulu says, panting between the words. "Right before we beamed."   
  
Chekov wants to fling himself onto Sulu and wrap around him completely, legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, face pressed to his neck. He doesn't, of course. They stand only there staring at each other, both of their chests heaving though they're keeping their breath quiet. Sulu is shaking all over, and Chekov might be, too, he can't even tell. There's some commotion behind them, but Chekov blocks it out, unwilling to take his eyes away from Sulu's.   
  
"I heard your voice and I thought," Sulu says, or tries to say, the words broken in places. He has cuts on both his cheeks, bruises rising underneath them. "I thought, I'm going to die and I'll never --"   
  
"Ensign!" someone barks, and Chekov turns.   
  
"We need you!" one of the lieutenants shouts, and Chekov nods, heading toward the transporter controls without looking back at Sulu, whom he still can't view as anything more than a ghost right now.   
  
He's not so amazing with the transporter equipment this time. He gets five people back to the ship, but the sixth is lost. Spock's mother. Chekov stares at the floor when Spock walks past, and waits to be arrested as a war criminal. He's killed someone, an innocent woman.  
  
He's hardly able to think of anything else during the rest of the ordeal, though he does come up with a way to warp to Nero's ship without detection. The ship is nearly sucked into a black hole before all is said and done, but Montgomery Scott saves their asses by ejecting the warp core and detonating it, blasting the ship away from danger. Chekov would be curious about this Mr. Scott and his theories about transwarp beaming if he weren't so exhausted and deflated, unable to look at Spock without wanting to eject himself from an airlock. When they're only a day's journey from Earth, the principal crew is relieved for a ten hour break. Chekov heads for his so far unseen quarters and shuts himself inside, glad to be away from the eyes of the others, which all look accusatory to him.   
  
It's strange to see his name pop up on the room's computer, strange to have a place where he belongs, or where he's supposed to belong, on a ship like this. The room is outfitted for a longer mission than the one they've just completed; Chekov couldn't even say how long he's been on board the _Enterprise_. Twenty-four hours? Forty-eight? Three? He's disoriented and disheartened, knowing that anything he does for the rest of his career will be outweighed by the split second when he couldn't react fast enough to save Spock's mother. He wanders the room, feeling as if he's not good enough to touch the perfectly made-up bed or the little soaps lined up on the counter in the en suite bathroom. He sits in the middle of the carpeted floor, his legs tucked up underneath him. Maybe he's not cut out for this. He shuts his eyes and thinks of Sulu freefalling toward Vulcan, and how close Chekov came to letting him die.   
  
Someone knocks on the door and he jumps, then cowers, expecting Spock. Vulcans are much stronger than humans, and he saw what Spock did to Kirk on the bridge when he was angry with him. He steels himself and gets up to open the door, knowing that he deserves whatever recrimination he's about to receive. When he finds Sulu standing there instead of Spock, a band-aid on his left cheek, he swoons with relief.   
  
"Hikaru," he says, barely able to wait until Sulu has walked into the room to fall onto him. When he has, Chekov takes one step forward, testing Sulu's reaction. Sulu groans and reaches out to draw Chekov toward him so fast that their chests knock together painfully. Chekov clings to Sulu, pressing his face against Sulu's neck, where he finds that Sulu's heart rate is still elevated, his pulse slamming against Chekov's cheek. He pinches his eyes shut and lets one broken sob shudder out of him as Sulu sucks in a deep breath, nearly lifting Chekov off the floor, his arms winding even tighter around Chekov's waist.  
  
"I didn't even know it was you, until just now," Sulu says, his lips moving against Chekov's temple. He reaches up to pet Chekov's hair kind of wildly, like he can't touch enough of it at once. "I just thought I was hearing your voice because I was about to die, but it was you, you saved us, I heard you on Kirk's communicator."   
  
"Hikaru." Chekov doesn't know what else to say. He noses at Sulu's jaw, wanting to disappear into his skin, which smells so much better than Chekov ever had the nerve to imagine, tinged with blood and phaser fire after his ordeal with the Romulans. Chekov's eyes are wet, which is embarrassing, because there's no crying on starships, and he's so tired of feeling inappropriately young.   
  
"I'm horrible," Chekov says, sobbing the words out. "That woman, she died --"  
  
"Don't say that." Sulu pulls back and holds Chekov's face, his thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. "You saved the others, Spock and the elders, you did everything you could. Probably saved everyone on board this ship by saving Kirk. And you saved me, too. You know. As a bonus." He smiles weakly, and Chekov wants to kiss him, but he barely has the energy to keep standing. Sulu seems to understand this, and he guides Chekov over to the bed, where they both take a seat atop the sterile gray sheets.  
  
Chekov isn't sure what to do next. He wants to lie down with his head in Sulu's lap, or curl up with him underneath the sheets and sleep until they reach Earth, but Sulu is just sitting and staring at his hands.   
  
"God, I've missed you so much," Sulu says in a whisper, and before Chekov can respond Sulu looks up at him, his eyes dark and serious. "Did you know anyone on board the other ships?" Sulu asks. "The ones that were destroyed?"  
  
"Probably some from class." Chekov shuts his eyes, thinking of the mass funeral that will be held when they return to Earth. Most of his classmates are dead. He's glad that Vincent wasn't yet qualified to deploy with the older cadets, and he smiles a little to himself, thinking that he never would have believed, once, that he'd be so happy at the thought of seeing Vincent again.   
  
"Ted was on the _Farragut_ ," Sulu says, and for a moment Chekov actually doesn't know who he's talking about. His mouth falls open when he remembers.  
  
"Hikaru, I'm so --"  
  
"I was supposed to be, too. We were about to ship out and they pulled me out of the pilot's seat. And then I, I walked onto that bridge and there you were, and I thought, fuck, of course I'm supposed to be here, with him."  
  
Sulu is starting to lose his voice, and he shakes his head when Chekov moves closer, wanting to comfort him. Chekov isn't sure if this means that he should back off or not. He freezes for a moment, then places his hand very gently on Sulu's back. Sulu shakes his head again, his mouth pinching up.   
  
"Had you gotten back together?" Chekov asks, not sure how close Sulu and Ted even were anymore. "I remember, the day you broke up –"   
  
"God, and you must know why." Sulu looks up at Chekov, his eyes full of tears. "When I think about it now – fuck, I think I was already in love with you then, when I was with him."  
  
Chekov somehow doesn't understand, for a moment, that Sulu is talking about him. _I was already in love with you_. The _you_ being Chekov. He frowns, shaking his head.   
  
"And the worst part," Sulu says, his voice shaking badly. "The worst part is that now, all I can think about is how glad I am to be alive, and how you saved me."   
  
"Hikaru –"  
  
"I'm a terrible fucking person. The way I've wanted you, fuck, Pavel –"  
  
"Hikaru –"  
  
"Goddamn you, quit saying my name like that."   
  
"I can't help it," Chekov sobs, and that's when Sulu kisses him, too hard at first and then softer, melting into it and holding Chekov's face. Chekov lets himself go boneless under the heat of Sulu's mouth, opening up to him and licking across the tip of Sulu's tongue. When Sulu pulls back to breathe against Chekov's face Chekov actually whimpers, wanting to never stop.   
  
"You don't know what kind of person I am," Sulu says, his fingers closing more tightly around Chekov's face. "You don't know what I want to do to you, the way I've thought of you –"  
  
"Me too, me too," Chekov says, nodding eagerly. He scoots closer, all the way into Sulu's lap.   
  
"Wait," Sulu says weakly, dropping his hands away. "I can't –" He hesitates, his mouth moving uselessly and his eyes unfocused, then untangles himself from Chekov and stumbles across the room.  
  
"Sulu!" Chekov cries. He's never called him this, but the name is suddenly stuck in his head after hearing the others use it on the bridge. "Wait, Hikaru, please."   
  
"I'm sorry, it's too much – not here, not now –"  
  
Sulu is leaning against the door, panting and distressed, and Chekov can't do this, not anymore. He won't let Sulu keep running away from him. Maybe too much has changed. Chekov is not the same boy who had no choice but to let Sulu stomp all over his heart.   
  
"Fine, you coward," Chekov says, so sharply that Sulu turns to stare at him in shock. "Get out of here, then."   
  
Sulu opens his mouth, and for a moment Chekov thinks, with delirious happiness and something like fear, that Sulu will beg. Instead, he leaves, quietly and without looking back. For a moment, Chekov doesn't know where he is, and then he remembers: space. And what difference does it make?  
  
*  
  
Chekov doesn't return to the Academy for the spring semester. The cadets who served in space and survived are sent home to recuperate pending a decision about what to do next. Most of them will be awarded degrees for their work on the _Enterprise_ and assigned their next mission aboard the ship once the Academy's surviving leadership reorganizes. Chekov is assured by his superiors that he will be on the crew of the _Enterprise_ , and that when she leaves on her next mission he will be her navigator. Apparently he was impressive, despite the blood on his hands.  
  
He goes home to Russia, to his aunt. January is endless and white, and Chekov spends his days as he did when he was a boy, reading in bed, his books propped against his knees. It's a comfort at first, replicated tea on the bedside table and snow falling heavily past the window, but soon he begins to feel as if he's moved backward, or as if he only dreamed the past three years of his life. He might as well have; none of it has made much difference. He's still quiet, solitary Pavel, with no messages on his PADD and no one to eat his bland, replicated dinners with but his aunt, who reads the newspaper at the table.  
  
She doesn't remember his birthday; she never has. He can't blame her, because he couldn't name the date of her birth with a gun to his head. These sorts of things have never been important between the two of them. They love and care for each other, that's plain, but a sort of spark went out when Chekov's parents died, and neither of them has the energy to pretend otherwise. Holidays are things for frivolous people, like earth-grown food and machine-washed clothes. He and his aunt have never had time for gifts or songs or even cards.   
  
Chekov sleeps under five blankets and dreams about Sulu. He wakes feeling like he only imagined Sulu; he was always more of a dream than a reality. The floorboards in his room creak as if they're bored. He wants to hide away from everything, even the objects in his childhood bedroom, which seem to mock him now. His birthday is like a joke at his expense, and he resolves to spend the day napping indulgently instead of keeping up with the reading schedule he's planned for himself until he hears news of a mission from Starfleet. He wakes up around three o'clock in the afternoon to knocking on his door, and wonders if his aunt has somehow sensed his melancholy from downstairs, discerning that it's thicker than usual.   
  
"What?" he bellows at the door, and when the knob turns slowly he knows already that it's not his aunt, who bursts in under normal circumstances and would come in even more abruptly than usual at such a prompt, asking Chekov how he has the nerve to speak to her so rudely when this is her house he's loafing in. He's listless on his side as he watches Hikaru Sulu walk into his cold little bedroom, and he stares, motionless, knowing he must be dreaming.  
  
Sulu stands near the door, holding a book. Chekov's hope for anything is so deep in hibernation that he doesn't really know how to react as it dawns on him that Sulu is really standing seven feet away from him and looking like he'll die if Chekov doesn't muster some sort of reaction soon. Chekov sits up groggily, frowning.  
  
"Your aunt let me in," Sulu says, as if that explains everything.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Chekov asks. He feels intruded upon more than anything, wearing sweatpants and a sagging t-shirt, barefoot and buzzing with flu-like warmth from the heat of his blankets.   
  
"It's your birthday," Sulu says. Chekov wonders if he always sounded this desperate. He's wearing a heavy pea coat, buttoned up to his neck, jeans and boots. Chekov stands up and walks toward him, expecting him to disintegrate like dust against the windowsill, but he's still there when Chekov is standing only a foot away, still watching Chekov as if Chekov is holding a very fine thread that separates Sulu from life and death.  
  
"I finished this," Sulu says, and he presses a book into Chekov's hand. It's _War and Peace_ , the worn copy Chekov gave Sulu that first Christmas. Chekov stares down at it, shaking his head.  
  
"It was a gift," he says. "You didn't have to return it."   
  
"I know that," Sulu says. They're both staring down at the yellowed novel as if they're afraid to look anywhere else. Chekov wonders what Sulu thinks of his home, if he's horrified at the austerity and the chill in the room that Chekov has come to appreciate, because he wakes in night sweats without it.   
  
"I guess you're supposed to like Pierre and Natasha," Sulu says, nodding to the book. "But I liked Nikolai. Or, I felt sorry for him, in a way."  
  
"It's been so long since I've read it," Chekov says, though it hasn't been long enough that he's forgotten that he identified with Nikolai, too, even when he hated him. He's not sure what Sulu is doing here, but he knows he won't be safe unless he assumes that Sulu is only preparing to leave again.   
  
"I didn't see you at the memorial service," Sulu says.   
  
"I wasn't there. I came home as soon as we disembarked. I haven't been back."  
  
"But you're coming back, right?" Sulu asks, his voice rising anxiously. "You haven't left Starfleet –"  
  
"No, I haven't left." Chekov walks away from Sulu, beginning to grow too distracted by that pea coat, wondering how warm Sulu is inside it. Chekov sits on the bed and tries not to look at Sulu. He stares at the window instead, the snow still coming down hard.   
  
"Maybe I should leave Starfleet," Chekov says.  
  
"Are you crazy?" Sulu follows him across the room but isn't presumptuous enough to sit on the bed. He kneels down so that Chekov is forced to look into his face. "You're still stuck on Spock's mother, aren't you? Chekov, it happens, it's part of serving. We lost so many people to that monster. And you, you saved _me_ , Pavel." He grabs Chekov's wrists. "I'm alive because of you. I think about that every day. Don't you – don't you ever think of it?"  
  
"Why haven't you written to me?" Chekov asks. Sulu's hands close more tightly around Chekov's wrists. His skin is cold, and Chekov wonders if he walked from the transporter station, which is twenty miles across town.   
  
"I was afraid that if I wrote, you would write back with something that would make me want to come here before your birthday."  
  
"My birthday?" Chekov rips his wrists from Sulu's hands, scowling at him. "You're only here because I've turned eighteen? That's so arbitrary, so stupid –"   
  
"Listen," Sulu says sharply, and he takes hold of Chekov's wrists again, moving closer. His chest is pressed against Chekov's knees now, and Chekov can feel him breathing heavily.   
  
"I promised myself, the first time I wanted to kiss you – Pavel, you were only –" Sulu shuts his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, wincing. "You were barely sixteen. And I was supposed to protect you."   
  
"You were never supposed to do that!" Chekov jerks as if to get away, but Sulu holds onto him, and when Chekov's legs slide apart Sulu leans in between them, making Chekov's breath catch.   
  
"Yes, I was," Sulu says. "And I don't mean because anybody asked me to. I loved you. And you told me you didn't like men –"  
  
"Oh, I was lying, you idiot, I was jealous!"  
  
"I know that now," Sulu says, his voice tight and his eyes are dark as he pulls Chekov toward him. Chekov isn't sure he likes Sulu like this, the spell that was keeping him from grabbing Chekov and having his way with him broken by Chekov's eighteenth birthday. Chekov shudders at the thought, his thighs beginning to tremble around Sulu's sides, and, okay, yes, he does like Sulu like this.   
  
"It took me a long time to realize that you – wanted me, too, and then that was, like, _worse_ ," Sulu says. "Like I'd corrupted you somehow. I couldn't even be near you, you would always look at me like you wanted me to touch you, and, fuck, I _wanted_ to, Pavel, so much, all the time."   
  
"Don't tell me this now!" Chekov says, shaking his head. "You don't know how badly it hurt, you were with that Ted –"   
  
"I know, and I hate myself for that, too," Sulu says. He presses his lips together, bracing himself to go on. "It wasn't fair to him. I think part of him must have known. He would tease me whenever I talked about you."   
  
"I heard him, at that party," Chekov says, muttering. It's still such a bad memory. "That's why I ran away. I was a joke between you. He called me your little shadow."   
  
"My little shadow," Sulu says softly, and Chekov looks up into his eyes. Something breaks in him then, some last, stubborn shred of sanity that he's been clinging to all this time. He presses his face to Sulu's, unable to wait any longer. He doesn't quite kiss him, just nuzzles against him mindlessly, childishly. This is the first time he's been close to Sulu without feeling young and ridiculous for wanting him, and somehow he actually misses feeling that way, just a little. Sulu sits up higher on his knees and touches the back of Chekov's neck with his cool hand, rubbing his fingers up into Chekov's hair.   
  
"I just wanted to keep you safe," Sulu whispers. He kisses Chekov's forehead, timid and soft, his lips shaking. "From me, most of all, from how much I wanted you."   
  
"So now you don't have to keep me safe anymore?" Chekov says. "Now that I am eighteen?"  
  
"I promised myself," Sulu says, shaking his head. "I told myself that if I loved you enough, I could wait. I just – had to. It was about me, not you."  
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says in a sigh, and he lets Sulu pull him fully into his arms. He wraps his arms around Sulu's shoulders and his legs around his back, pours himself onto him and knows Sulu is going to keep him safe, that he'll never stop wanting to, even when Chekov is fifty. Chekov will do the same. He'll save Sulu's life ten thousand times if he has to. He'll push whoever he needs to aside, take the controls from their hands, and bring Sulu back to him.   
  
"I think about that first year all the time," Sulu says. He licks at Chekov's ear, making him squirm and smile against Sulu's neck. "Back before I was, like, tormented by the thought of you. When we were just friends, the way you would look at me like you admired me so much, like I was the coolest guy in the world. That drawing you did."   
  
"I still have it," Chekov says, and Sulu leans back to look up into his face.  
  
"I know you do," he says. It burns all the way down to Chekov's heels, the look on Sulu's face, as if he's telling Chekov that he trusts him with his life. And of course he does. They're going to go to space together, they're going to hold each others' lives in their hands every day. But that's already true, here on Earth.  
  
Sulu finally kisses him then, real and warm and deep, and Chekov sighs into his mouth, wishing he could drag every previous version of himself here to see this and feel it, Sulu's arms snug around him and his tongue sweet with the taste of real strawberries, something he must have eaten before he left California, because there certainly aren't any of those here. Chekov wants to prove to all his past selves that he'll have this someday, that they should be patient and wait, but maybe that would only make every long day without Sulu harder.  
  
"Tell me how you wanted me," Chekov says, holding Sulu's face and breathing hard onto his cheeks, his cock already going stiff against Sulu's chest, legs still tight around Sulu's back. "Tell me when."  
  
"When?" Sulu raises an eyebrow, grinning. "Okay. That night in the Astronomy lab. In the dark, you grabbed my hand, and I thought, I could just kiss him, kissing him wouldn't be so bad." Sulu moans with frustration at the memory and leans forward to kiss Chekov hard, swallowing his shaking breath. "But it wouldn't have been like that, I knew it, you'd come apart in my hands and beg me to do more, and I would do it, I'd totally lose control, that's why I never let myself kiss you."   
  
"Except that one time," Chekov says, grinning, the pain of the memory fading to nothing as Sulu licks his lips apart again.   
  
"Yeah," Sulu says, speaking into Chekov's mouth. "I slipped."   
  
"I hated you for leaving," Chekov says. He pulls his t-shirt off, and Sulu stares at him, his eyes full of awe and hunger and hesitation, as if he can't quite believe that he should ever be allowed to put his hands on Chekov.   
  
"I – I had to leave," Sulu says absently. His hand is lingering in mid-air, fingers close to Chekov's chest, and Chekov reaches down to press Sulu's hand against him. Sulu's lets out a choppy breath, his eyes on Chekov's hard nipples, and he leans forward very slowly to kiss his breastbone. Chekov sighs and strokes Sulu's hair encouragingly.   
  
"I waited for you," Chekov says, hoping that Sulu will understand what he means. He must, because he whimpers a little, his tongue moving too carefully over Chekov's left nipple. He kisses his way up to Chekov's neck, his hands roaming over Chekov's back, making him shiver and laugh nervously.  
  
"What about your aunt?" Sulu whispers, and Chekov laughs again.   
  
"What about her? She won't come in." He begins unbuttoning Sulu's heavy coat, wanting Sulu's skin against his, though the rough fabric of the coat does feel nice against his bare chest.   
  
"We don't have to, you know," Sulu says as Chekov pushes his coat to the floor. "I didn't come here to deflower you, necessarily." He grins, sheepish and adorable. Chekov laughs and kisses him.   
  
"Yes, you did," he says, and Sulu responds favorably to the devious look Chekov gives him, hurrying to scramble out of his pants.   
  
"Well," Sulu says, kicking off his boots. "I did bring this, just in case." He fumbles into the pocket of his coat and tosses a silver tube to Chekov, who knows what it is before reading the label. It's a fancy, organic brand, of course, nothing like the replicated gunk Chekov used to coat his fingers with before he shoved them into himself four at a time, desperate for the feeling but too ashamed of himself already to replicate anything cock-shaped.   
  
Chekov sets the tube on the bedside table and slides his sweatpants off. He lies back on his pillow and pulls the blankets over his legs, holding his arms out for Sulu when he kneels onto the bed wearing only his underwear, which does little to hide his arousal. Sulu has a look in his eyes like he can barely handle finally having this, and Chekov just grins up at him, calm and content and perfectly complete when Sulu drops into his arms, reaching back to pull the blankets up over both of them.   
  
"This is the only thing I want," Sulu whispers as he kisses Chekov's face, settling heavily between his legs. Chekov groans in agreement, knowing that Sulu is not being literal, that they both want a lot more than this, everything, but just lying against each other in bed like this represents what they both need more than anything.  
  
"You feel so good," Sulu says, his voice still soft and low, either because he's afraid Chekov's aunt will hear or because he doesn't have the energy to be any louder, everything he has poured into the effort of not falling apart completely at the opportunity to stroke his hand up and down Chekov's side, making him shiver. Chekov wants to be stroked gently like this by Sulu for hours, forever, but he wants to have sex first, or at least come in Sulu's hand, because his cock is hard and leaking, making his whole body pulse with its painful fullness. He needs to explode, fall apart, he wants it.   
  
"Can I?" Chekov asks, pushing at Sulu's underwear. Sulu nods and helps him take them down, squirming out of them. He's on his knees when he throws them to the floor, and he looks back to Chekov with his cheeks pink. Chekov lets his eyes trail down Sulu's body, his heart pounding as he stares at what he's imagined so many times. He's seen most of Sulu, actually, in their room when Sulu would walk out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, but Sulu has gotten bigger and stronger since then, especially in his arms, and his cock is bigger than Chekov expected, pointing straight at Chekov's nose, so hard for him. Chekov touches Sulu's thigh with one shaking hand, trailing his fingers softly along the tight line of Sulu's waist, down to the base of his cock. Sulu's eyes fall shut as Chekov traces his fingers up the shaft, and when he circles the wet tip with just one finger, Sulu groans and falls forward onto his hands and knees, his hips bucking once.   
  
"Pavel," he says, his voice cracked and weak. Chekov pets his hair and kisses him, letting Sulu push his harsh breath into his mouth. He closes his fingers around Sulu's cock while they kiss, and pumps him, drinking down his moan, and then again, until Sulu is thrusting in time with Chekov's strokes.   
  
"Wait," Sulu begs breathlessly, sitting back. He puts his hands on the waistband of Chekov's boxer shorts, and looks up to get Chekov's permission before pulling them down.   
  
"Yes, Hikaru, _God_ ," Chekov whines impatiently, and Sulu grins. He pulls Chekov's boxers off, going needlessly slow, and tosses them to the floor. When he looks back his eyes are glued to Chekov's spread thighs, his mouth wet at he watches Chekov reach down to touch his cock self-consciously.   
  
"I –" Sulu starts to say, and then he lets his voice die off. He strokes the inside of Chekov's thighs until Chekov is shaking and cursing, then leans down and takes the tip of Chekov's cock into his mouth. Chekov shouts in happy surprise and puts his hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. He looks down and watches as Sulu's lips slide around his cock, and moans hard against his palm.   
  
"Feels so good, so good," Chekov whispers, letting his hand fall away. He strokes Sulu's hair and tries to keep his eyes open to watch Sulu suck him, but they keep falling shut, his head rolling back and his hips arching up as waves of hot pleasure break through him. It's Sulu's fingers tickling over his balls that finally sends him over the edge, and he comes down Sulu's throat with a pinched-up whine, wanting to scream loud enough to be heard from space. Sulu swallows him down and slides away slowly, making Chekov groan again when he laps a last fat drop of come from the head of his cock. Chekov reaches for him and Sulu crawls up to lie beside him, propped on his elbow. He kisses Chekov softly, stroking his cheeks and watching him recover.   
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says, still panting. He draws his fingers up over Sulu's elbow and onto his shoulder, touches his neck and his hair, wants to touch him everywhere, and he can, now, finally, but it's still not enough. "I want you inside me," he says, reaching down for Sulu's cock. Sulu swallows heavily, his eyes changing, and Chekov can't decide if something has drained out of them or pooled into them.   
  
"Are you sure?" Sulu asks.   
  
"Yes, please, please, I've waited so long already, please, I want you now."   
  
"Okay, okay." Sulu smiles a little, and his hand is shaking when he cups Chekov's face. He kisses him once more, too slow and gentle for the state Chekov is in, his cock already going stiff again at the thought of finally having Sulu inside him. He's gotten so used to imagining it that it seems like a thing that will always be unreal.   
  
"Listen," Sulu says, hovering over Chekov with a worried sort of look on his face. "I love you. Did I say that before?"  
  
"More or less," Chekov says, grinning. He sits up on his elbows to kiss Sulu again. "I love you, too," he says, in Russian. "You're everything." He strokes Sulu's cock to get him moving again, and Sulu groans, going for the lube.   
  
"Okay," Sulu says as he coats his finger with the stuff, which smells good, like some kind of melon. Leave it to Sulu to bring him melon-flavored lube. Chekov just beams up at him, overcome. Sulu seems so nervous.   
  
"I'm going to go slow, just tell me if it hurts," Sulu says, and Chekov laughs.   
  
"You don't have to go so slow," he says. "I have – done this before. To myself."  
  
Sulu's eyebrows shoot up, and Chekov can't read his expression for a moment, but when his mouth falls open Chekov is pretty sure he likes the idea.  
  
"And kind of a lot," Chekov says. "Often, I mean. So, please, Hikaru, don't go slow. We can go slow some other time."  
  
"You did this?" Sulu says, rubbing over Chekov's entrance, and it feels so incredibly fucking better than anything he's ever done to himself; Chekov is writhing and panting already. "Like this?" Sulu asks in a whisper, pushing the pad of his finger into Chekov.  
  
" _Yesss_ , Hikaru, like that." Chekov's cheeks burn. This is his private, shameful thing, but here is Sulu, finally doing it with him, marveling at the way Chekov goes wild for it.   
  
"Good?" Sulu asks as his finger slides in deeper, and Chekov moans in response, nodding weakly. He goes completely limp with pleasure as Sulu's finger slides in and out, the angle shifting until he finds the place that Chekov somehow thought no one else would ever touch. Chekov yelps and boggles up at Sulu when he strokes him there, and Sulu leans down to smile against Chekov's lips before he kisses him.  
  
"Shhh," he whispers.   
  
"Oh- _oh_!" Chekov's head falls back and his hips start doing a weird, frantic dance. "Hikaru, please, now, I want you inside me, your cock, _pleaseplease_!"  
  
"You sure you're ready?" Sulu asks, and there's a bit of bragging in it, which makes Chekov smile.   
  
"Yes, Hikaru, I – I'll die if you don't fuck me right now," he says, trying to make his voice sharp and demanding so that Sulu won't be too gentle with him.   
  
"Alright, calm down." Sulu flattens his hand against Chekov's breastbone as if to hold him in place, and Chekov gasps out his breath as he watches Sulu sit back and slick himself with his other hand. Sulu's body is flushed and his eyes are hooded, dark with lust. He holds Chekov's hips to brace himself and lines himself up with Chekov's body. Chekov shuts his eyes for a moment, unable to make himself believe that this is finally happening, not just the sex, but, oh, afterward, he wants to hold Sulu forever, and touch every part of him, and do all of this again, at least five times before they leave this room.  
  
Sulu pushes into Chekov very slowly, and Chekov is actually quite grateful for this, because Sulu is thick and it hurts a little at moments, Chekov's ass spasming as he tries to breathe through the pressure of being filled up completely. Sulu strokes Chekov's face and whispers reassurances, asks him to relax and tells him he's doing well. Chekov blinks up at him, dazed, twitching between pleasure and pain as Sulu seems to endlessly penetrate him, until finally he's fully sheathed in Chekov's body, leaning over him and humming with satisfaction, his eyelids so heavy that they're almost closed.   
  
"You okay?" Sulu asks, barely getting the words out. Chekov nods, and Sulu smoothes his damp hair away from his forehead. Sulu's cock is throbbing, slow and steady like a heartbeat, Chekov can feel it. He's already trying not to come.  
  
"You're so tight," he whispers, trailing his fingers down Chekov's face. He sounds a little worried, and Chekov is, too, for a moment, but then he lets out a shaky breath and shuts his eyes, and the throb of Sulu inside him begins to feel good.   
  
"Here," Sulu says, soft and concerned like he's going to bring Chekov a blanket. He strokes Chekov's cock, which relaxes him further, Chekov sinking into the feeling of Sulu's hand moving on him. He cracks his eyes to watch Sulu pump him, moaning a little at the sight. Sulu shifts backward a bit, and Chekov throws his head back, hissing a thousand filthy curses at the ceiling, most of them Russian.   
  
"What's wrong?" Sulu asks. When he goes tense Chekov can feel that inside him, too, and he moans, shaking his head.  
  
"Not wrong, so good, so good, Hikaru." He's mindless now, blind eyes on the ceiling as Sulu gets the idea and moves again, just slightly. Chekov whines, pulling handfuls of the bed sheets into his fists.   
  
"You like that?" Sulu asks, sliding backward and then forward, cautious enough to make Chekov want more. He nods and looks down to watch Sulu moving into him, Sulu's hands braced on Chekov's bent knees now. Sulu is watching, too, watching his cock disappear into Chekov's body, his mouth hanging open, lips swollen, hands shaking. Chekov keeps his eyes on Sulu's face, wanting so much to see him come.   
  
"Harder," Chekov begs, his heart pounding with the request. Sulu looks up at him uncertainly, and when he begins pushing into Chekov faster, Chekov makes a broken, animal sound that he's sure his aunt can hear from wherever she is in the house, if she hasn't already left for a walk to avoid overhearing what was inevitably going to happen when Sulu entered this house.  
  
Sulu fucks him harder and harder, losing himself to it, his head lolling back. He growls and yanks Chekov up from the mattress, and Chekov gasps in surprise, groping for Sulu's shoulders. He clings to Sulu as he holds him against his chest, thrusting up into him and panting hard near his ear. Chekov pushes down to meet every thrust, so wide open now that he doesn't recognize himself; he's never felt like this. Sulu reaches between their bodies to jack Chekov's cock, and Chekov doesn't know how to concentrate on the sensation while Sulu is slamming up into him.  
  
"Come on," Sulu breathes, his eyes cracking open to meet Chekov's. "I want you to come. I didn't get to see your – f-face, before, and I, I want to feel it."   
  
Chekov presses his face to Sulu's cheek and shuts his eyes while Sulu strokes him hard and fast. He's close, but too distracted by the burn in his ass to fall over the edge.   
  
"Tell me," Chekov pants out. He and Sulu are both slick with sweat and it's getting hard to hold on to him. "Tell me how you thought of me. That night. After the – lab. Did you think of me that night, Hikaru?"  
  
"Yeah," Sulu cries, as if it pains him to admit it. "I thought about – undressing you in the dark. How you would feel – your skin – the way you would sh-shake and whisper my name. _Uhhgh_ , God, Pavel. I thought about my hands – in your hair – while you sucked my cock."  
  
Chekov screams when he comes, his face buried against Sulu's neck. Sulu drives up into Chekov while his body is still spasming around Sulu's cock, which seems to get bigger and bigger until he finally comes, whimpering into Chekov's ear, his vise-grip on Chekov's body weakening as they both sink back down to the pillows. They lie together in a disheveled tangle, Sulu still half-inside Chekov and both of them struggling to regain their breath. Sulu pulls out slowly, making Chekov wince; he knows he'll be sore. He rolls onto Sulu as Sulu pulls the blankets back up over them, and settles his face against the place on Sulu's neck where his pulse is beating hard under his skin.   
  
Sulu sighs and wraps his arms around Chekov, the last of his strength seeming to leave him as he lazily pets Chekov's hair. Chekov clings to Sulu, waiting to wake from this dream. But his subconscious has never been quite this kind.   
  
"Are you okay?" Sulu asks, scooting back a little to look into Chekov's eyes. They're both half-asleep already, worn out. Chekov smiles and nods, Sulu's hand heavy on his cheek. He feels so well taken care of that it actually makes him shiver.   
  
"It's so cold here," Sulu says, rubbing Chekov's shoulder. "Let me take you someplace warm."  
  
"You have already," Chekov says, his voice scratched up and small. Sulu grins and kisses Chekov's nose, then sighs and lets his eyes fall shut, looking as if he's ready to sleep for a long time.   
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says before he can drift off. Sulu wrenches his eyes open again and blinks at Chekov drowsily, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Chekov's back.   
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Do you remember – the last data file you gave me, for Christmas, the last songs?"  
  
"Yeah." Sulu pulls Chekov closer, as if he's suddenly worried that he'll slip away. "God, that day. Seeing you like that. I was so miserable."  
  
It had never really occurred to Chekov that Sulu might be miserable, too, that he was going to bed with his eyes wet, wrapping his arm around a pillow and pretending it was Chekov. He pets Sulu's side under the blankets, already prepared to forgive him for all the nights that Chekov passed the same way.   
  
"The last song on that data file – do you remember?"  
  
"Yeah. 'Wish I'd Shut You Up.' That Jackman song."   
  
"You remember!"  
  
Sulu smiles sadly, pushing his nose against Chekov's. "Yeah," he says. "That. That song, for me, was, um. You."   
  
Chekov eyes fill up, and he makes himself laugh so he won't start crying. He hasn't allowed himself to listen to that song since the ordeal on the _Enterprise_ , and he misses it, even misses feeling like he would die without Sulu. He wouldn't take back a moment of it now, and he's almost grateful for the pain, as if it's a tower he's been building for three years. It got so tall it broke the atmosphere, but every inch of it made finally leaping from the edge and landing in Sulu's arms feel even better, and he's floating effortlessly on adrenaline now, because he made it, he survived the fall.   
  
"If we aren't both assigned to the _Enterprise_ , I'll die," Chekov says, not really exaggerating at all. Sulu laughs.  
  
"We will be," he says, and Chekov smiles, because he knows Sulu is right. They belonged there, immediately. Chekov thinks of the two of them in bed under a window on space. He imagines looking up from the familiar plane of Sulu's chest and seeing the stars.   
  
"Maybe we can be roommates," Chekov says, not sure if Sulu is awake or not. "On the Enterprise."   
  
"Yeah," Sulu says, mumbling and half-asleep. "I don't ever want to –" He yawns and resettles himself, breathing into Chekov's hair. "Don't ever want to sleep without you again."   
  
"Hikaru?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Maybe when we wake up, we could draw cartoons of each other."   
  
Sulu sniffs out a laugh. "Sure, okay."   
  
"Well, we don't have to. But will you take me to Hawaii?"  
  
"Yeah, Pavel." Sulu is smiling in his sleep, his lips so swollen that Chekov can't help kissing them in little pecks, just to feel how soft they are.   
  
"Okay, you sleep, and when you wake up we'll go."   
  
"Aren't you going to properly introduce me to your aunt first?"  
  
"What do you want to meet her for?" Chekov asks, laughing.   
  
"'Cause you're my family, Pavel," Sulu says, peeking at him from under his heavy eyelids. "You are. So I should meet her."  
  
"Okay, okay," Chekov says. "Fine, you can meet her. Now go to sleep. You look so tired."  
  
"I walked here from the station," Sulu says. He squirms against the pillow, getting comfortable.  
  
"I knew you did."  
  
"So fucking cold here."  
  
"Yes, yes. Sleep, Hikaru."  
  
Sulu sighs deeply and obliges Chekov, his limbs growing heavy and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out. His mouth falls open just slightly and Chekov has to fight the urge to kiss him again. He tells himself they have time for that. They'll go to some sunny beach and Sulu will teach him how to surf; Chekov will finally get some use out of his board shorts. Which he's probably lost, actually. But he can get another pair.  
  
He falls asleep with this delirious thought in his head, and dreams of replicating board shorts. In the dream, he can't remember why he needs them, and then Sulu is there, dressed in board shorts of his own and holding a surf board. Chekov is on a beach, watching Sulu run toward the water as he beckons Chekov to follow, and when he looks up at the sky he squints into the sun, imagining some younger version of himself peering down at this scene as if at the screen of a PADD full of pictures of Sulu. He waves up at the sky, wanting to make some secret, quiet impression on the hopeless boy in the sweater vest who is sitting lonely on Sulu's bed, spying on his PADD pictures and wondering if he'll ever belong in them. The sun winks down at him, and Chekov runs for the water, hoping his message has been delivered. He knows it will be hard for that boy. And he knows, now, that it will be worth it.


	5. Chapter 5

Five years later, Chekov is driving through the hills of Clearlake, California in the rain, cursing Sulu and his obsession with non-replicated ingredients. They're giving their first Earthbound party since they returned from a five-year mission in space, and to their great surprise their crew mates have actually all agreed to come. It's become like a sort of reunion event, everyone a little lonely for each other after two months apart following the five years spent in each other's constant company. They were all grumbling and ready to return by the end of the mission, but now that they've been back for awhile, living their separate lives, they're actually craving some time together before they all return to space aboard the _Enterprise_ in another month.   
  
"I got your damn mushrooms," Chekov says when he crashes into the house, soaking wet because the hover feature on his umbrella is broken. He dumps the dripping bags full of authentic, earth-grown groceries onto the island in the kitchen, and Sulu turns from the sink to regard them calmly.   
  
"You know what," he says, holding an old-fashioned peeler in one hand and a carrot in the other. "I forgot to tell you to get wine."  
  
"Well, call the guests and tell them to bring their own wine if they want it," Chekov says, shrugging off his rain coat and letting it flop to the floor. "Me, I'm having vodka." He gets the bottle down from the top of the refrigerator and pours himself a glass.   
  
"Sure is raining out there," Sulu says, going back to his peeling. He has to do everything the old-fashioned way, and he's always saying that it makes things better tasting or longer lasting or more meaningful. It never drove Chekov crazy when Sulu was just getting nostalgic about opportunities to do day to day things the hard way while they were in space, but now that they're back on Earth, living in Sulu's parents' vacation cottage until they return to space, Chekov, who didn't even taste non-replicated food until he was twelve years old, is suffering Sulu's efforts to achieve every experience authentically and with as many trips to the shops in town as possible. His gardening habits alone are exhausting, and those Chekov only watches from his reading chair at the back window.   
  
"Yes, I noticed the rain," Chekov says sarcastically. He walks up behind Sulu and puts his chin on his shoulder, watching him peel carrots. Thunder rumbles outside, and part of Chekov wishes they'd never had the brilliant idea to throw this party, but it was mostly Chekov's idea, so he can only blame himself. It's New Year's Eve. He's had a fantasy since he was fifteen about throwing a New Year's Eve party with Sulu, packed with their mutual friends and lasting well past midnight. Sulu has a thing for indulging Chekov's fantasies, and he's been kind enough to pretend not to know where this one comes from.   
  
"Thanks for going to the store," Sulu says.   
  
"You're not welcome," Chekov says, kissing Sulu's neck. "Can't we just replicate everything for tonight, Hikaru? Kirk and the others won't know the difference. They're not snobs like you."   
  
"I don't care what they think of the food, I just like doing all of this," Sulu says. "Get over it."   
  
"But Hikaru, I'm tired."  
  
"Pavel, you just got up three hours ago. Go take a nap if you're tired."  
  
"But you make me feel guilty when you do all the work! And I want you in bed with me, anyway."  
  
"Will you put those groceries away, please?" Sulu asks, bucking backward to shove Chekov off of him. Chekov groans and does as he's asked, taking breaks to drink more vodka. He secretly loves all of the annoyances of being home on Earth, and loves the little cottage they're living in almost as much as his room on the ship. Still, he does find himself longing for the uncomplicated aspects of life in space from time to time, and for the complicated ones, too, like landing a shuttle on an alien planet after the touch-down equipment has been blown off, Sulu beside him, eerily calm while Chekov shouts out coordinates from a sparking navigational console. He grins, remembering the night they spent together in the jungle afterward, waiting for Scotty to lock on and beam them up. Everything smelled like fire: their skin, their hair, and the uniforms they pulled off as soon as they crawled into their tent, adrenaline still pumping.   
  
Chekov helps Sulu with the cooking until lunch time, when he makes himself a sandwich and falls asleep in his reading chair after eating it. When they're in space he's always full of energy and has a hard time dropping to sleep at night even after being fucked to near unconsciousness by Sulu, but since they've come home he's been dozy and prone to napping, the gravity weighing on him. He doesn't mind it so much; it reminds him of that first winter break spent with Sulu, falling asleep in front of _Ghostbusters_ and waking in time for dinner.   
  
When he wakes up it's still raining hard and the whole house smells good, like baked apples and some organic spices that Chekov could never identify by name. He really does appreciate Sulu's obsession with earth-grown ingredients at times like this, just before they eat. He slumps into the kitchen and finds Sulu drinking a beer and poking a toothpick into the center of an unfrosted cake. Chekov dumps himself against Sulu's back and yawns.   
  
"You're not going to make it 'til midnight," Sulu says, reaching back to pat Chekov's ass.  
  
"Yes, I will," Chekov says, yawning again.   
  
Spock and Uhura are the first to arrive, promptly at nine o'clock. They've rented a hover car from the teleportation station down the road, so they're both perfectly dry. Chekov hugs Uhura and shakes hands with Spock, offering them drinks while Sulu takes their coats. Just the sight of Spock once filled Chekov with crushing guilt, but Spock must have noticed this at some point – that, or Kirk brought it to Spock's attention – because after about six months aboard the _Enterprise_ together, Spock stopped Chekov after dinner one night and said, very softly, _I was the one who failed to save her, Ensign_ , before walking away.   
  
Scotty shows up next, and then some of Sulu's friends from the Academy whom Chekov used to spy on for information about Sulu, followed by Vincent, who now works on the _Enterprise_ as Scotty's assistant. As soon as he and Scotty spot each other they take up some argument they'd been having about the _Enterprise's_ plasma injectors before they left the ship. Next comes Mara, one of the communications officers from the bridge, and then finally the Captain, in the company of an irritable-looking McCoy. Everyone stops what they're doing and crowds around Kirk to welcome him and slap his shoulders, which seems to please him very much.  
  
"Nice place you've got here, boys!" Kirk says, shrugging off his raincoat as the walks into the kitchen. He smacks a bottle of non-replicated whiskey on the counter. "Little housewarming present here from me and Bones."  
  
"Jim," McCoy says, wincing. He gives Sulu and Chekov a shifty look. "It's not a joint present," he says. "It's really from me. Jim's just taking half the credit."   
  
"Thank you, Doctor," Chekov says, giving Sulu a secret look that's met with a smile. They have a theory that Kirk and McCoy are sleeping together.   
  
The group barely fits around the table in the dining room, but Sulu of course insists on serving an actual sit down dinner. Chekov has to admit that it is a nice effect when their friends are all gathered around, talking over each other (except for Spock, who concentrates on his meal until his plate is clean) and passing bottles to refill drinks. Chekov is practically in Sulu's lap, their chairs are so close together, and he uses the opportunity to kiss Sulu's jaw with ridiculous frequency as the night goes on and he gets drunker. Sulu doesn't seem to mind; his hand is almost constantly on Chekov's leg under the table.   
  
"Listen," Kirk says at one point, standing from his place at the end of the table. "I just want to thank everyone here for all your hard work last year. Every single one of you really means a lot to me."  
  
"Oh, perfect, he's drunk and making toasts," McCoy mutters into his glass, and Chekov chews his tongue to keep from laughing.  
  
"And I mean that, I really do," Kirk says, gesturing around with his glass. He is slurring a bit. "And I can't wait to get back to space with you impressive motherfuckers."  
  
Spock frowns a bit and Uhura explains in a whisper that _motherfuckers_ is a compliment in this context.  
  
"Hear, hear," Sulu says, diplomatically ending Kirk's toast by raising his glass. Eventually, everyone migrates from the table to the living room, except for Scotty and Vincent, who are still fighting about the plasma injectors. Chekov spends most of the rest of the evening talking about the Cold War with Uhura, who is a 20th century history enthusiast. Most of their conversation is in Russian; Uhura is the only person Chekov can speak to in his native language, and he always appreciates the opportunity. He catches Sulu staring at him from across the room and grins at him; Sulu has a thing for listening to Chekov speak Russian.   
  
"It makes you sound like this wise old scholar or something," he told Chekov once. "You should have tried that on me when we were at the Academy," he said, and Chekov punched his shoulder, cursing him in Russian.  
  
"Now you tell me," he said.   
  
At midnight, Kirk leads the countdown, grabbing McCoy and giving him a friendly shake when he refuses to participate. Chekov shouts out the last seconds of the year happily, seated beside Sulu on the sofa, leaning against him with his glass of champagne raised toward the ceiling. It was a good year: their five-year mission was successful, and they've got a huge data file full of PADD pictures from their travels to alien planets. They got to come home in November, and they spent Christmas with Sulu's family as usual, only this year they had very quiet sex on the pull out bed in the basement, the first bed they ever shared. They've been enjoying themselves here in the cottage by the lake, Sulu teaching Chekov how to fish and attempting to teach him how to cook, though Chekov doesn't have much interest in the hobby and mostly just watches Sulu work while nibbling at the ingredients. They'll be in space again in a month, and until then there's nothing but late mornings in bed and Sulu obsessing over his vegetable garden, things that let them feel like old men already, in case they never get the chance to really grow old.  
  
When the countdown reaches zero and the New Year is upon them, Chekov turns to kiss Sulu sloppily while the others cheer. He pulls back to grin at Sulu, who laughs and smoothes Chekov's hair down. He's always telling him that his hair matches his mood: careful and controlled at work, wild and disheveled when he's had a few drinks.   
  
Guests begin to say goodnight, heading back out into the rain with their umbrellas hovering over them. Chekov hugs his crewmates goodbye, even Vincent and Scotty, everybody high-drunk and affectionate. McCoy and Kirk are the last to leave, Kirk talking seriously with Chekov about that day Chekov saved him, slurring but sincere. Chekov hugs his Captain enthusiastically before McCoy finally pulls him out the door, and Sulu bolts it behind them, making Chekov laugh.   
  
"Goddamn," Sulu says. "I forgot how much I hate throwing parties."   
  
"I liked it," Chekov says. He slumps over to the sofa and collapses onto it, groaning with the effort. "My dream came true," he says, holding his arms out for Sulu, who falls into them willingly.  
  
"Your dream?" Sulu says, feigning obliviousness as he kisses Chekov's cheeks. He's so heavy between Chekov's legs, so warm.   
  
"Yes, my dream," Chekov says, wrapping his legs around Sulu's back. "You and me and the dirty dishes. You know. You remember."  
  
"Ah, yeah," Sulu says, grinning against Chekov's lips. "One of those nights I spent trying not to fall in love with you."  
  
"Ha! Well, you failed."  
  
"Yeah, I did. Thankfully."  
  
"Hikaru." Chekov kisses Sulu deeply, hooking his ankles together around Sulu's back, pulling him in as close as he can. "Where would you be without me?" he asks, grinning, feigning confidence.   
  
"Dead," Sulu says with a snort. "Obviously."  
  
"Don't say that."  
  
"Okay. Okay, Pavel, I'd be alive and miserable."  
  
"I know you would, you would be so sad without me."  
  
They kiss for a long time, and it's close to two o'clock in the morning, the kitchen full of dishes that need to be loaded into the refresher and leftover food that needs to be placed into airtight containers and stowed in the fridge. The whole house smells warm and tired, like the remains of a party.  
  
"Hikaru," Chekov says as Sulu kisses his neck, making him twitch like a teenager. "It all went by too fast, tonight. I forgot to sit back and feel smug."  
  
"Smug?"  
  
"Yes, for being the one who was with you. Oh, Hikaru, that night, that party."  
  
"Okay, okay." Sulu sits up onto his elbows and kisses Chekov's nose. "I remember."  
  
"I know you do."  
  
"You ran away – Pavel, shit, you have no idea how I panicked. I wanted to call the police, you were _missing_."   
  
Chekov laughs beneath him now, and Sulu bites at the end of his nose, giving him an irritated look.   
  
"I'm serious," Sulu says. "I looked up and you were gone."  
  
"Oh, Hikaru, please. All you were back then was gone."   
  
"But I told you when I was leaving – Pavel, that night, I went from room to room, I ran all the way to your dorm."  
  
"I thought you looked like you wanted to kiss me."  
  
"I wanted _something_ , then," Sulu says. "I don't think I could have named it out loud."   
  
"What did you want, Hikaru?" Chekov asks, squirming up against him. He knows he's being a little obnoxious, but he can't help it, wanting to go over the artifacts of their past. It feels so good, now, when he knows what will happen, how the story will end.   
  
"This," Sulu says, closing his mouth over Chekov's. He kisses him like he's still a little afraid to do it, and Chekov hopes he always will be, that he'll always hesitate just before swallowing him up. He's still amazed, every day, that Sulu wants to kiss him, and he wants Sulu to always feel amazed that he's finally allowed to.   
  
The rain keeps falling after midnight, not interested in marking the New Year. Chekov and Sulu have sleepy sex on the sofa, and Sulu pulls Chekov into the bedroom, where Chekov falls into the tangled warmth of the sheets and listens to Sulu brush his teeth and splash water on his face. Sulu shuts the light in the bathroom out and stumbles into the bed, climbing clumsily over Chekov and settling onto the pillows. Chekov holds his breath, waiting for Sulu's half-asleep sigh, which he's heard maybe two thousand times but which he never forgets to appreciate. He still remembers the nights he spent without it too vividly, the way the world was sometimes good but never good enough. He scoots over and pushes his forehead against Sulu's, listening to his slowing breath.   
  
"That night," Chekov says, half-asleep himself. "Eight years ago – what if I had grabbed you and kissed you when you came to my room to make sure I was alive? I thought about it, you know."   
  
Sulu laughs, warm against Chekov's cheeks. "I don't know," he says. "I probably would have compromised my morals, hated myself."   
  
"Oh, Hikaru. I would not have made you hate yourself. You would have been so glad."  
  
Sulu laughs and pulls Chekov in closer, until he almost can't breathe, smushed against Sulu's shoulder. Chekov knows what this means, when Sulu goes quiet and just holds him close. He's not as enthusiastic about hammering out the details of alternate realities as Chekov is.   
  
"Anyway," Chekov says, feeling charitable. Sometimes he fights a response from Sulu, making him admit that things would have been wonderful, even back then, especially back then. "Here we are."  
  
"Here we are," Sulu mutters into Chekov's hair. "Pretty good New Year's Eve, I'd say."  
  
"Yes, very good."  
  
"Best ever," Sulu says, and Chekov grins.  
  
"Okay, best ever," he agrees. They're quiet for awhile, and Chekov is surprised when Sulu suddenly speaks, because he thought he was asleep.  
  
"Just know," Sulu says. "Back then. Maybe I wouldn't let myself understand why, but I wanted you there at the end of the party. I ran after you more for that than any fear for your safety. I just wanted you back. That was all I knew."   
  
"That was all I knew, too, Hikaru."   
  
"Well, here I am." Sulu kisses Chekov's forehead. "You got me back."   
  
"I did." Chekov still can't get used to it. Maybe it's space, the everyday danger. He'll never forget to be grateful.   
  
Sulu falls asleep, but Chekov can't manage it, his heart still pounding too hard with the excitement of the party and all the talk of the past. He rolls onto his back, Sulu following, pressing his face between Chekov's neck and shoulder. Chekov strokes his hair and Sulu begins to snore softly in his ear. He watches the dull dark of the bedroom ceiling and thinks of space, how it's really no different than lying here, in this earthbound dark with Sulu. They're always vulnerable, in danger of losing each other. It's a new year, and in a month they'll be back in space, assigned harrowing missions every month, every week, and all they can do now is know how much they have to lose. Chekov still has the drawing he did of Sulu vanquishing alien attackers, and he keeps it with him when Sulu is assigned to away missions without him. Sulu still comes back from dangerous planets and asks Chekov if he's okay, if he's been eating the organic vegetables Sulu grows on his personal F deck space for the sole purpose of keeping himself and Chekov healthy.  
  
Sometimes Chekov laughs at himself, because this kind of love must be everywhere, and it is: Uhura and Spock, Kirk and McCoy, Chekov's mother and father. It's as commonplace as anything that can be made in a replicator, but it's still organic, still sacred. He knows it because he's smart enough to understand that if Sulu hadn't shown up in his bedroom on his eighteenth birthday he would have moved on, would have obsessed over someone else, even loved that person, but it would be different, hard-edged and second best. He would have been that person's companion and joy, he would have been happy, but he's only been one person's shadow, he's only ever erased himself for Sulu. He's hated Sulu for it and loved him for it, but ultimately he just needs him for it, both to grow beyond it and live within it. He holds onto Sulu as the rain continues to pound the roof of the cottage, finally safe inside the knowledge that Sulu was his shadow, too, the dark part of him, once. Sometimes they still sink to darkness beneath each other, but more often they shade each other, and most of the time they're in space, where there's no sun to mark them, and there they're just home, as they were since they first set foot on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ , where all the old shadows were wiped away.


End file.
